


Saturation

by mokuyoubi



Series: Elf 'Verse [3]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Real World, M/M, Polyamory, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon decides it’s time to grow up.  Even if that means living out of his car in Las Vegas.  </p><p>Written 3rd, chronologically 2nd Elf 'Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturation

**Author's Note:**

> Jon in this is based very much off the interview in which he said, “A lot of people do hate us before they like us…even with me, there was definitely preconceived notions of lumping them in with Fall Out Boy. But as soon as I saw them, I felt like such an idiot for ever telling my friends that I didn’t like this band before I had heard their songs.”

Jon hadn’t meant to end up in Las Vegas. It was one of those things, a chain of events, loosely interconnected, leading him inexorably to a certain place, all seemingly random, until, looking back and studying it all, played out as inevitably as fate.

The Academy Is… was on tour again, but since he only had one quarter left to graduate, Jon decided it was time to stop playing around with his famous friends and do something with his _own_ goddamn life. 

Tom was covering his share of rent, but Jon had subleased his room to bring in a little extra cash and a friend of Jon’s new (temporary, until Tom got home, except these days Tom being home meant days instead of weeks) roommate was into photography as well, had done pretty well for himself as a freelance artist on the west coast and he and Jon began to communicate through email, sending pictures back and forth. The guy, Eric, wasn’t _Tom_ , but he was pretty good with a camera. 

Jon’s advisor was getting on his back about deciding whether he planned on going to graduate school or straight into the work force. Jon had never planned on doing any more school after finishing his BFA, but the job field for an aspiring artist was just as dismal as the movies made it out to be. 

“There’s a position for an executive assistant at a research company downtown,” Professor Fields said. “Starting salary 25k. Better than most can look forward to, straight out of undergrad.” Neither of them had to say anything. They both knew the likelihood of Jon finding a successful career as a photographer was pretty slim. 

Cassie said, “We all have to grow up sometime, Jon. A lot of people end up doing things they didn’t plan on doing.” And, well, it wasn’t even that she said it unkindly. In fact, she’d been really sympathetic about it. But just…the fact that she had said it, that she obviously thought that sacrificing ones dreams was just part of growing up…it was so different from everything Jon believed in, he knew right then they wouldn’t last. 

They broke up two weeks later, a week before Jon’s graduation ceremony. She still came to watch him receive his diploma and went out with his family for pizza afterwards, and held his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, “I hope all your dreams come true, Jon Walker.” 

Tom sent the text _tour got extended—europe dates, hell yeah._

There were two gushing, fan-girly responses to Jon’s most recent photoblog post, the screen names vaguely familiar as they were about the only people besides Jon’s friends and family who actually _looked_ at Jon’s stuff. 

Eric called and said, “I know this guy in Vegas who’s retiring, and he’d rather sell his studio to someone he knows will keep it than see the building go to someone who’d use it for something else. Some of the equipment would need replaced, but the darkroom is awesome.” 

It wasn’t as if Jon hadn’t considered opening his own studio, but starting from scratch was way too expensive, and the cheapest studio for sale in the Chicago area had been going for 90k. Eric’s guy was willing to cut a deal for a friend, only asking 20 thousand down and 600 a month in rent until the rest was paid off, for a grand total of 70 thousand for his place. 

The studio was pretty nice—a good central location just a few blocks south east of the bustle of The Strip. Aggressive advertising at local hotels meant the business was a recognised name for weddings and tourists, and the owner had an established client base with many families in the area. 

Jon was passionate about what he did, but he wasn’t _stupid_. He researched. He gathered data and talked to his father’s accountant and visited a dozen banks to find the best deals and financing. He emailed and called the owner for over a month, asking questions, finding out which equipment would need replacing, and what the overhead costs were, getting the info on necessary local contacts. 

The plan was for Jon to come with the check for the full amount, at which time Eric would pay his share. It made sense to have one payment, and Jon’s parents had helped him sign for the bank loan. 

Eric had a suite at one of the more affordable residential hotels in town, and offered his couch to Jon until things were more settled. So Jon packed up his cameras and a few changes of clothes, stored the rest with his parents, posted to his blog (for those two fans he had, out there, somewhere) and prayed to god his car would make it the whole way. 

Jon had only been out west with The Academy Is…, where most travel days were spent passed out from a night of excessive drinking. At some of the venues he’d ventured out for day trips with Tom, taking in some of the local sights, but he’d never really gotten a feel for the desert. 

He’d agreed to go into this with Eric because it was the best thing going for him, but as he drew closer to Vegas, watching the scenery change from mountain to the desert painted orange and purple at twilight, Jon thought maybe there would be more for him. And then there was the city, all bold lights and striking skyline. He could definitely find inspiration in Las Vegas, do some freelance work. 

Eric was out of town when Jon arrived, but he’d had a key held for Jon at the front desk of the hotel. He was due back the next day so they could go together to the studio to sign the paperwork, but apparently he had been held up in Los Angeles on business. 

The city beckoned, but the drive had been exhausting, and besides, there would be plenty of time for that now that this was his home. Instead he watched the local news, feeling a slight pang of homesickness for the familiar anchors at home, and fell asleep early with the T.V. still playing. 

Jon met with the studio owner, Avery Black, the morning after Jon arrived. It was weird going by himself, like his first official act as a real adult. Leaving Chicago, Jon had thought that being almost twenty-three meant being grown up, but he felt so fucking childish and unprepared, shaking hands with Mister Black. 

They couldn’t do anything without Eric, but Mister Black (“call me Avery”) took Jon on a tour of the studio and Jon fell in love. It was all open and airy, with great lighting and lots of dynamic space to show their work, and the darkroom really was a thing of beauty. If Jon hadn’t already bargained his future on the loan he’d taken out, he’d have been sold upon seeing this place. 

The studio was on a quaint stretch of street, along with three chapels, an upscale clothing boutique and a café, where they went to lunch. “I really like you work,” Avery told Jon. “Even if Eric wasn’t involved, if you still wanted the place, and could afford it, I’d be okay with that. Knowing it was in your hands.” 

And while that was _flattering_ , it wasn’t really reassuring. Especially since when Jon got back to the hotel, Eric was there, and he didn’t look like a man excited about purchasing a business. 

“I got offered a position with a travel magazine in Seattle,” Eric explained. “They’re going to send me all over the place, and the salary is just…insane. I couldn’t turn it down. This is what I’ve always wanted.” 

Jon was too freaked out to be gracious or understanding about things. There was a screaming match followed by Eric telling Jon he was leaving again in two days and had paid the room off for another week, at which point Jon would have to leave. Jon called his dad and spoke until the sun was coming up again about what his options were, and in the morning he went back to the studio and Avery had new paperwork drawn up for Jon to sign on the dotted line. 

The studio was named Captured Expressions, so it wasn’t like Jon had to switch the name, or anything, though he might get around to it eventually. It was better this way, until clients learned his name. Captured Expressions was familiar to people, trusted. 

It also helped that Avery’s three employees stayed on through the transition. He thought there might have been a little resentment from one of the guys, Jake, but he hadn’t bought the place, so whatever. Jake’s work was okay, but he mostly helped with the equipment and did some family portraits now and then. 

Stephanie, a photography student at the University of Nevada Las Vegas, was in her senior year. She mostly took care of secretarial work, but Avery had given her full use of the equipment and, if customers requested her, had allowed her to do shoots of her own. 

Rose was a retired school teacher who’d gone back to school for photography and now did some really impressive work. She had fairly steady income from online sales of her pieces, and mostly did weddings and confirmations for the studio. 

And, well. It wasn’t what Jon had been expecting, when he’d dreamed of being a photographer, but he couldn’t complain. All three of his employees were booked out for the next three months, and even after Jon had explained to their current client base the change in ownership, calls started streaming in to request Jon, too. 

He’d have preferred to get a chance to do some work of his own choosing—getting out and seeing the city, go exploring in the desert, maybe take a couple day trips down to the Grand Canyon or something. Dealing with temperamental brides and bitchy seniors was not exactly Jon’s idea of a good time, but every time he reminded himself that he was barely bringing in enough to pay on his loan and Avery’s rent _and_ space rental, and he kept going. 

So, okay, Jon was living in his car. But it was just, he didn’t have any other _options_ at the moment. He supposed he could have slept in his office at the studio, but his backseat was a lot more comfortable than the hardwood flooring, and besides, he didn’t want to have to explain it to any of his employees if they came across him in the morning. 

He usually stayed at the studio past closed catching up on paperwork, got fast food for dinner and then hung out at the all night bookstore/coffee shop on campus until he was tired. The parking lot worked fine—there was an all night grocery shop in the same plaza, so there was plenty of lighting, and it was only a ten minute drive to the office. Every morning he got up early so he could clean up in the studio’s bathroom, and on weekends he visited the Laundromat. 

It wasn’t too bad, really, even though it could get surprisingly cold at night. Everyone said that about the desert, but Jon hadn’t understood until he’d spent his first night in his car. After that he’d sprung for a thick comforter at Target and slept with his winter coat on. Of course, he woke up sweating every morning, but he supposed it could be a whole hell of a lot worse. 

Researching online, he’d found that it would probably be getting too cold for comfort by November. But Jon had done the math and figured that if he busted his ass and took on more afternoon and early evening jobs, he could set aside a bit of cash. It wasn’t like he had any life outside of work anyway. And that way, by late September or mid-October he should be able to afford first and last rent on a studio apartment. 

Stephanie put a call through to Jon’s cell just as he was finishing up at a family reunion. The family had been pretty cool, even though they’d made him a little homesick for his own. They’d insisted Jon share their lunch with them and he’d ended up playing with the kids after, taking tonnes of pictures that weren’t even part of the deal, but he’d had fun doing it. Felt like he’d finally taken some pictures he wanted to. 

“Jon Walker,” he greeted. He was still working on how to say it. He wanted to come across as confident or knowledgeable, or something. Mostly, he thought he ended up sounding pretentious or constipated. 

“Mister Walker,” came the harried, no-nonsense voice, “I’ve spoken with Mister Black and he assured me you were a suitable replacement, and honestly this has been put off too long for me to go hunting down someone else.” She took a breath and pushed on. 

“My client can be a bit…picky about who he’ll work with, but when I mentioned your name, he approved as well, and I know it is short notice, your receptionist said something about you being booked up for the month, but the deadline is next Monday. Of course we can compensate you appropriately for the extra time you’d be putting in…”

Jon wasn’t even sure what he was agreeing to, but despite the ‘suitable’ comment, it sounded promising. He wasn’t about to turn down any job, especially not one promising extra compensation. “I could probably work something Friday or Saturday evening,” he said. “I have appointments in the afternoon, but I’m free after seven both nights.” 

There was the sound of pen scraping across paper. “I’ll talk to my client,” the woman said. “We’ll need you to sign the same confidentiality agreement we had with Mister Black. I’ll have that faxed to your studio along with the appointment time. My client prefers to be shot in his own home, rather than in the studio. We’ll have a car sent.” 

“I can drive myself,” Jon protested, starting to wonder what, precisely he was getting into. 

The woman made a strange noise. “My client would prefer to have a car sent for you, Mister Walker. I’ll contact you soon with further information. Please look over the papers I send you. Feel free to discuss them with your lawyer. I’ll just need them back before you go for the shoot.” She ended the call before Jon could ask any further questions. 

Sure enough, the papers were waiting when Jon got back to the studio. They were for a company called Setting Sun Publications, a division of Penguin Group. There were eight pages to the thing, most of it fancy lawyer talk Jon didn’t really get, but essentially saying that all prints, negatives and digital copies of the pieces he took of their client were the property of Pearson PLC, and must be surrendered immediately upon completion of each job. Furthermore, Jon wasn’t to repeat anything he heard or saw in the course of working each job. 

And it wasn’t like Jon was going to go around telling anyone, anyway, but the details of what would happen if he did—the amount of financial damage he would take—was enough to ensure he’d keep his mouth shut no matter what. 

There was also a message from the woman he’d spoken with earlier, written in Stephanie’s neat cursive. She’d given her name as Ms. Celia Larkin and quoted a price for Friday at 7:30 for more than double what Jon would normally ask. She didn’t provide many other details, other than to say that he was taking shots for a book jacket and a website. 

“Is this a little weird?” Jon asked, waving the contract in front of Rose and Stephanie. 

Rose shrugged. “The author thing? Avery didn’t really talk about it, except to say that it was a shame he couldn’t keep copies of the work. Said the boy was really photogenic, took some great shots.” 

“Yeah, he’s photogenic,” Stephanie said dreamily, and that was that. 

If Avery had been okay with it, Jon would be too, for what they were paying him. He signed the contract and had a copy faxed over immediately, sending the hardcopy by courier. 

Stephanie scribbled out the name of the author before she left that evening. “He’s amazing,” she said. “You’re so lucky.” 

Jon had heard the name Ryan Ross—it had been impossible to avoid since his first book of poetry had been published two years previously—but Jon had never had any desire to read it. Emo kids loved it, which was enough to ensure Jon stayed well away. But he didn’t like the idea of going into this whole thing unprepared. 

Tom called, like every night before a show. Tom tended to get anxious before going on stage—not nervous, exactly, but uneasy, and this was the first tour without Jon along to distract and entertain him. 

Jon told him about the assignment and Tom told Bill who told everyone, and they all laughed and started shouting emo jokes in the background. “Oh my god,” Bill said, stealing the phone away, “Jonny Walker, you have to tell me everything after you meet him! You must take pictures of his ‘daddy didn’t love me’ self-cut scars.’” 

“Sorry, Bill,” Jon said, sort of vaguely annoyed, because, you know, he wasn’t actually about the mocking. He’d had friends who’d been cutters, and it wasn’t really funny. “Signed a confidentiality agreement.” 

That set off a whole new round of laughter and jokes about how paranoid Ross must be, and what a freak, and what sort of horrible, crazy things Jon would see at his place. 

That night, Jon tried to set aside his preconceived notions and grabbed Ross’ newest collection at the bookstore. He hunkered down in the café with a huge cup of coffee, determined to read at least a little. A little over an hour later he finished and went right back to the shelf for the other two Ross had put out. Jon liked to think he wasn’t a judgemental asshole, but he couldn’t believe that he’d dismissed Ross’ work before. 

Jon liked poetry well enough—he loved music and spent most of his life since his early teens in various bands. Good poetry could be like lyrics, and Jon could appreciate that. But Ross poetry wasn’t just _good_. It wasn’t just catchy and lyrical and painful and bittersweet. Ross’ poetry made Jon hear music. It was _incredible_. 

He ended up buying all three books, the first luxury items he’d bought since arriving in Las Vegas. He stayed up late in his car, reading his favourites over and over again by the parking lot lights. 

There wasn’t a lot of information on Ryan Ross, Jon discovered, when he looked online the next day. He was seriously tight-lipped in interviews—unsatisfying relationship with his parents, passion for literature and music, and yes, he is dating someone and no, he won’t discuss it any further. 

The only pictures Jon could hunt down were a couple yearbook shots, and Avery’s work—the headshots from the dust jackets. All the photos were black and white. The yearbook shots were grainy and pixelated, but Jon could tell Ross had a wide, generous mouth and mischievous eyes. 

Avery’s shots were beautiful and wistful, but they were all profile or three-quarter shots of Ross turning away from the camera in soft focus. The most Jon could get from those was that Ross’ hair looked impossibly soft and that his facial structure was delicate and regal. 

By Friday Jon was about to die of curiosity. It wasn’t at all like him. He was a pretty laidback guy, which was why everyone on tour had always loved him. No matter how worked up everyone else got, no matter how stressful the situation, Jon kept cool. 

But Ross’ words kept repeating over and over in Jon’s head with snippets of music. He thought about them while he worked, found himself trying to capture the idea of a particular phrase in a picture. He thought about them at night and dreamed about them. It was sort of insane. 

The car came at 7:30 precisely and Jon left Stephanie in charge of locking things up for the evening. Ross’ condo was in the suburbs, further than Jon had ventured. He’d been in Vegas just over a month, and it was sort of surreal—he kept forgetting where he was. Most of his time was spent working. The only time he’d spent near any of the casinos was when he visited hotels for weddings. He hadn’t played a single game or seen any of the real attractions of the city, so it was easy to forget. 

Ross’ condo was small, but the carved stone gate around the complex and the highly manicured lawns and gardens bespoke of wealth. Jon figured that, given the guy was twenty-one, it was impressive that he owned his own place at all, let alone a place as nice as this. 

Jon couldn’t quite get over the fact that Ross was younger than him. His words were so powerful and he wrote with such an impressive vocabulary—Jon had read online that a lot of the stuff from Ross’ first book had been written when he was in high school—fifteen and sixteen years old, writing poetry that would make Bill Beckett sick with envy if he’d ever bother to get over stupid preconceptions and read it. 

The door was answered by a strikingly pretty boy with silky honey gold hair down to his shoulders and sweet blue eyes, dressed like he’d raided a twelve year old girl’s closet. “Mister Walker?” he asked. 

“Jon, please.” 

The boy opened the door wider for Jon to enter. “Please come in, Jon. I’m Spencer.” He shook Jon’s hand and leaned into the hall to shout, “Ryan! Jon is here!” 

Spencer gave Jon a small, sheepish smile when he turned back. “He’s freaking over what to wear,” he explained. “The publishers are making a website. Can I get you something to drink while you wait? Tea, or coffee?” 

Jon forced himself not to be weird or uncomfortable, no matter how awkward it was standing in a stranger’s house…a stranger he’d been obsessing over for the better part of the week, no less. “Coffee sounds good,” he said. 

“Come, have a seat in the living room,” Spencer said. And, well, there was something about the kid. He looked like he couldn’t be more than eighteen, and his clothes and hair didn’t help…but something about the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke, politely and with careful phrasing, that made him sound older. 

Spencer showed him to a seat and went into another room, presumably the kitchen. Alone, Jon took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. The living room had a cosy feel about it—lots of warm colours and soft lighting from small lamps instead of an overhead lights. On the longest wall there was a huge plasma television and a crazy expensive looking sound system. The entertainment centre was stuffed to bursting with jewel cases and vinyls. 

Across from the chair where Jon was seated there was an overstuffed sofa hugged by matching end tables, both decorated in knickknacks and covered with books. The coffee table had a half-finished game of Scrabble and notebook covered in slanted handwriting. Jon was tempted, really tempted to take a peek, see if it was something new Ross was working on, but he forced himself to look away. 

That was when his eye caught on the framed piece above the sofa. It took him a second to wonder why it was so familiar. It wasn’t that Jon didn’t recognise his own work, but he had no expectation of seeing _this_ piece anywhere at all, really, let alone in Ryan Ross’ home. 

Even if people recognised his work, it wasn’t this stuff…the stuff he’d done the first time he’d gone on the road with The Academy Is… shooting all the time. It was disappointing, because that was some of his favourite work, but early on Jon had learned that photography wasn’t about what he liked. At least, not if he expected to make a living. 

For a second, Jon thought maybe it was just that Ross was a fan of The Academy Is…, because the shot was of Bill and Tom sharing a mic, foreheads pressed together. But then Jon’s gaze was drawn across the room to the other frames—there were several of his other pieces—a schoolyard fence, a silhouetted figure in a dark alley, a series all along the back wall of Chicago through the seasons. 

Spencer came back in and Jon jerked his eyes away quickly to look at him. “What…?”

“Oh,” Spencer said, looking at the ground. He set the cup on the coffee table in front of Jon. “Ryan and I are fans of yours.” 

“Where did you even find these?” Jon asked. “How did you get them?” 

Spencer looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Ryan saw one of your pieces on William Beckett’s blog, and he followed the link and we saw these, and had them printed professionally. But, I mean, we’ll pay you, of course. That was why Ryan was so eager when he heard you’d purchased Avery’s business. We’ll pay you whatever price you feel is fair.” 

Jon wasn’t even sure this kid was for real. “You don’t have to…I don’t want your money,” he said. 

“Well,” Spencer began, hands clasped so tightly together they were going white and red. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mister Walker,” came another voice and Jon turned to see Ross descending the last few stairs, straightening the cuffs of his crisp, white button down. The accompanying pinstripe pants and black vest enhanced a long, willowy frame, making Ross look delicate and painfully thin. There was a bright blue cravat around Ross' long neck, drawing Jon's gaze down to where the top button of Ross' shirt had been left undone. None of the pictures had done him justice. 

“You can call me Jon,” he said, and almost cringed at how he sounded, hollow and uncertain. 

It had to be obvious, the way he was staring at Ross, drinking in his features, the things he couldn’t get from the black and white shots—the peach of his skin, the catlike golden brown of his eyes, the soft pink of his mouth, and his hair, which seemed to range from warm blonde to dark brown so seamlessly, Jon couldn’t figure out what to call it. 

Ross leaned in to whisper something to Spencer. They were of a height, and stood very near to one another, Spencer’s soft curves framed by Ross’ severe angles. Jon was struck by what a stunning pair they were, beautiful in very different ways, so much that he couldn’t say which was more so. 

He liked the way Spencer’s fingers hooked through the loops of his girl jeans, hips cocked to the side, and the way Ross’ long bangs fell into his eyes, head angled close to Spencer’s. Whatever Ross said made a slow blush creep up Spencer’s cheeks, made his lips turn up in a shy smile. Jon wondered how inappropriate it would be if he started taking pictures of his subject’s...what? Brother? Roommate? Assistant? 

“I’m Ryan, Jon,” Ryan said, extending his hand, and Jon thought that Spencer and Ryan must have been friends a long time; their mannerisms were strangely similar. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” His voice was monotone and surprisingly deep. Jon wondered how it sounded reciting his poetry, if it changed. 

“It’s alright,” Jon said cautiously, “Spencer was telling me about how you came to have my work on your walls.” 

Ryan blinked, and Jon got the impression that was a big reaction for him. “Of course we’ll pay you whatever price you ask,” Ryan said slowly. “You are a difficult man to get in contact with. Your blog has no email address. I tried leaving a few posts, asking if you would accept reimbursement…”

And suddenly, Jon _did_ remember the posts, months and months ago, from a couple college kids, saying they’d had his stuff printed out and they didn’t feel right just taking it and Jon had been so flattered, and it wasn’t like he was a nazi about his stuff anyway, so he’d told them not to worry. There’d been a few more posts after, insistent, but he’d been insistent right back, and eventually it had died down. 

“I meant what I said then,” Jon said. “I’m just glad you like them. Besides, what your publishers are paying me now more than makes up for it.” He smiled to soften the words, to show he was teasing, because Ryan was an unknown quantity. Jon had to be careful not to say the wrong thing. Ryan’s poetry hinted at complexity and social awkwardness. 

But Ryan smiled softly in return, tucking a bit of hair behind his ear in what was no doubt a regular nervous gesture. “That’s very magnanimous of you,” he murmured. And, like, it was pretentious as shit, and if Bill had said it, Jon probably would have scoffed and hit him in the arm or something, because Bill was an idiot who happened to have a good head for big vocabulary words and liked to rub it in people’s face. But Ryan sounded so sincere, Jon was just charmed. 

“So,” Jon said, because this could get uncomfortable quickly. “I thought we could do some outdoor shots before it got dark.” 

“Oh!” Ryan said, like he’d entirely forgotten the reason for Jon coming. “Of course. Whatever you think is best.” He shook his head, a frown of distaste pulling at his lips. “The editors want some ‘diverse shots’ for the website.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m gonna let you guys do your thing,” Spencer said. “I’m so glad I got a chance to meet you, Jon.” 

Ryan’s frown deepened. “You’re going?” 

“Told Crystal and Jackie I’d come over for movie night. They were pulling that ‘you never come around anymore and only live ten minutes away’ guilt trip shit again. You can come over after you’re done. We’re getting pizza and Crystal’s challenged me to an all-night Halo tournament. I think she called Brent, too,” Spencer said. 

“It might be late before we finish,” Ryan said, biting his lip. He looked hesitantly at Jon. 

“All-night Halo tournament,” Spencer repeated, nudging Ryan’s shoulder with his own. 

“I’ll call you when we’re done,” Ryan said. 

“I’ll order pineapple for you. We can just crash there tonight. Mom will be glad of the chance to feed you breakfast again,” Spencer said, the expression on his face telling of a long battle. Jon was sort of intrigued by these two. 

“Mmm. Mom pancakes. I’m sold,” Ryan said, his first real smile since he’d come down. “Tell Crystal her ass is going down.” Then Ryan tucked his finger in the collar of Spencer’s shirt and tugged a little, and they were kissing. It was quick and soft and close-mouthed, but there was no mistaking it. It was a kiss between lovers. 

Spencer grinned when he pulled away, and it just lit up his face. His eyes were fucking _sparkling_. Jon was struck with the urge to photograph him again. Thankfully Spencer took that temptation away, waving goodbye and disappearing down the hall with a “Nice to meet you, Jon.” 

“Sorry about that,” Ryan said, in a dismissive way that invited no questions. “So. Outdoor shots?” 

They worked outside until after the sun had set. The lighting was nice for Ryan’s complexion, the colours cast by the setting of the sun making Ryan’s skin look warm and golden and glinting off the highlights in his hair. Ryan didn’t really pose so much, and Jon preferred his work to be natural anyway, so it worked out well. 

Indoors, Ryan showed him upstairs to his study. Every wall was lined in bookshelves, the only free space taken up by a gorgeous writing desk, above which there was a framed woodcut that looked like something out of _The Inferno_. 

There was a cream coloured leather chaise in the corner, and Jon imagined Spencer and Ryan curled up there together, reading, or Spencer there alone while Ryan worked at his desk, maybe bouncing ideas back and forth. In the opposite corner there was a drum set and a guitar in its stand. 

“Spencer’s on drums,” Ryan explained, and didn’t offer any more. Jon figured that, given how private Ryan was, he’d already offered a lot tonight. Jon was still trying to process the fact that Ryan had _kissed Spencer_ right in front of him. For a guy who was usually so taciturn about his relationship, it was shockingly open of him. 

Jon had to mess around with the lighting in the study to get it right. It was nice for reading and writing, no doubt, soft light, but bright enough not to strain the eyes. It just didn’t work so well for photography. 

By the time Jon decided they had enough, he’d had to delete a handful of shots off his 4 gig card just to fit in all the shots he wanted of Ryan. He couldn’t help it though. Every time he thought he’d just got the perfect shot, Ryan would do something even better, tilt his head just so, or dip his lashes or shift his posture in the smallest, almost imperceptible way. There were many shots that worked just like a movie, a solid stream of tiny motions because Jon couldn’t stop taking them. 

“I’ve got what I need,” Jon told him, when the clock read close to eleven. “Still plenty of time for Halo.” 

Ryan spared him a small smile at that. “I really do appreciate you giving your evening up like this. I shouldn’t have put this off so long, but I’m not really a big fan of having my picture taken, knowing so many people are going to see it.” 

Jon could have made light of it, talking again about how much he’d been paid for this evening, or how he hadn’t really had anything better to do, but even though it had started out like that, that wasn’t the whole truth. And Jon wanted to tell Ryan the truth. 

“I’m glad I got the chance, actually,” Jon said, smiling at the carpet. “I sort of really wanted to meet you.” 

“Yeah?” Ryan asked, sounding pleased and puzzled. “I wouldn’t have…Most guys our age don’t like my stuff.” 

Jon shrugged and looked up at Ryan. “Most guys our age are douchebags,” he said. That earned him an even bigger smile, even if it was wry around the edges. 

“Look,” Ryan said, when he was standing at the front door and Jon was already halfway down the drive. The same car that had brought him was waiting at the curb. 

“Yeah?” Jon turned and liked the way Ryan looked, backlit in the doorframe. 

Ryan fidgeted with a bit of hair, twisted his mouth uncertainly. “Avery used to go over the pictures with me. Let me see them before they went to the publishers, got rid of any I didn’t want being seen, you know.” Jon nodded. “Celia said…she gave me the option of tonight or tomorrow night, for your time. I’ll pay you the same you were paid tonight, if you’re still free tomorrow night.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jon told him. It didn’t seem right to ask Ryan to pay for that, especially when Jon wouldn’t mind spending more time with him. 

“Well…let us make you dinner, at least,” Ryan said. “Spencer kicks ass in the kitchen.” 

There was something about Ryan’s posture—the cant of his skinny hips, jutted in Jon’s direction, eyes heavily lidded—the suggestion in the pitch of his voice, low, and the most emotive he’d been all evening. 

“Dinner sounds good,” Jon said. 

Ryan nodded as if there had never been another option, all closed off and aloof again in an instant. “I should let you go, then, before it gets any later. Does seven-thirty sound alright for tomorrow, too?” 

“Can I drive myself?” Jon asked. 

Ryan laughed. “I suppose you can find your way back?” 

Jon grinned. “Seven-thirty.” He gave Ryan a little salute and hurried off to the waiting car. 

Jon didn’t get much sleep after the driver dropped him off at the studio. He booted up his computer and popped in his SD card, planning to clear off all the non-Ross stuff, but once that was finished, he couldn’t help looking through the shots of Ryan. 

It wasn’t like Jon could use any of the pictures in his work, which was all he’d really taken into consideration when he’d first signed the agreement. What he hadn’t accounted for was the chance that he might want to keep some of the pictures for himself. 

And, it wasn’t even like Jon was being a creepy stalker pervert. Well, not entirely, anyway. It was just…it was like Bill and Tom and Siska, who were so fucking _beautiful_ that even apart from being famous or his friends, or whatever, were just nice to look at. Who, when caught just right, were fucking works of art. 

Ryan was like that. 

Jon went through the shots—all 1500+ of them, deleting a few here and there, blurry or with remarkably poor composition, and the odd shot that caught just Ryan’s shoulder, or foot, or didn’t catch him in the frame at all. He managed to cut things down by a good quarter that way. 

Often, Jon found himself lingering several minutes on one shot, admiring the way a lock of hair curled behind Ryan’s ear, or the slightest twist of Ryan’s lips. One shot he spent a good ten minutes on, noticing the beginning curves of black ink on the inside of Ryan’s wrist as he pushed his hair out of his face. It wasn’t something Jon had noticed at the time, and he stared at it long and hard, trying to make out what it was. 

He was worried that showing all of these to Ryan might be giving away something Jon didn’t want known. He hadn’t meant for the pictures to show a muted longing. Jon wasn’t even sure what he was longing _for_. He wasn’t that guy, who tried to win people who’d already been won by someone else. He wasn’t even sure he’d want Ryan like that, even if he could have him. He didn’t actually _know_ the guy. 

There were probably plenty of fans out there who all thought that reading Ryan’s poetry meant knowing him. Who thought that they were the ones who could make Ryan happy and whole, or some shit like that. Jon wasn’t that presumptuous. All Jon did know was that Ryan’s writing fascinated him, and his manner was strange and intriguing, and the guy was really photogenic. 

In the end, Jon left them all on the card except one. It was one of the last from Ryan’s backyard, just as last rays of the sun were dipping over the horizon. The orange glow cast half of Ryan’s face in shadow, a stark contrast to the pale of his skin. His mouth was parted just slightly and he was looking at something in the distance with a wistful, longing expression. 

Jon dragged it across the desktop, but he just couldn’t let it go in the recycle bin. He hesitated a long time, finger aching from holding in the mouse. It ended up in his private folder—shots of friends and family that he didn’t share with anyone else. It wasn’t really a breach of contract if no one else ever saw it, right? 

*

Ryan answered the door when Jon arrived the second night. He looked far more comfortable than he had the previous evening, barefoot and dressed in loose jeans and a scoop-necked sweater that showed off his lovely collarbones. 

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Spencer called from the kitchen doorway, peeking out to say hi when Ryan settled Jon in the living room. The whole house smelled amazing—Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade food. Mostly he’d been living on pizza and fast food for the past couple months, with the occasional frozen meal. 

Ryan presented Jon with a glass of wine and took him outside while they waited for Spencer. There were two dogs in the yard, who hurried over, sniffing Jon curiously. “I had them locked up in our bedroom when you came by. I wasn’t sure if…Not everyone likes being around dogs.” 

Jon squatted down and passed his wine glass to Ryan so he could pet them both. “I like animals,” Jon said, and turned his face into the kisses the boxer was giving him. Maybe he was generally more of a cat person, but he missed the press of a tiny, warm body and the easy affection that animals gave. 

Ryan smiled. “That’s Boba,” he said, bending to scoop up the beagle with his free arm. He rubbed their noses together. “And this is Hobo.” 

They tossed a ball for the dogs, just chatting about nothing, until Spencer called them in for dinner. Jon had seen a darkened dining room, but Spencer had laid out the smaller table in the kitchen, and it was nice and cosy. 

There was steak and baked potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, steamed broccoli and carrots tossed with baked red peppers and asparagus in a butter sauce, and biscuits straight out of the oven. Spencer looked kind of like a girl. Maybe Jon could convince an Elvis to marry them. 

Conversation was easier with Spencer in the mix. He had an easy, casual confidence about him that seemed the exact opposite of Ryan’s careful, watchful censorship of his words. No doubt it was part of what made them work as lovers. Ryan had a lethargic sort of ease about him with Spencer at his side, spoke more freely. 

Spencer asked about Jon’s work, and how he’d ended up in Vegas, but nothing too personal. In turn he talked about his schooling. Jon had taken a few psych courses in college and they had a fun debate over sociology versus psychology that Jon was happy to let Spencer win. Spencer was sort of fiercely smart, in a way Jon couldn’t hope to stand up against. 

Eventually Ryan relaxed enough to talk about his own work at the UNLV. “I think they just gave me the honorary and doctorate so they could boast another famous name on their staff,” he said, and Jon didn’t know how someone so famous and so talented could be so self-deprecating, too. “But they gave me a full ride before I was even published, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give something back.” 

They finished off the bottle of wine over dinner and Ryan opened another before they headed into the living room. Ryan hooked up his iPod and the music spilled out of the speakers in surround sound, rich and full. The song was unfamiliar—some indie band—but Jon liked it. 

Jon pulled out his laptop and Spencer and Ryan sat on either side of him. The sofa was comfortable but it sagged toward the middle with all their weight, pressing Spencer and Ryan close against him. They didn’t seem to notice, or mind, so Jon bit his tongue against saying anything. 

Ryan hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was uncomfortable with pictures taken of him. He kept trying to veto every picture as it came up, no matter how beautiful or nicely arranged. Spencer was the voice of reason, speaking as though objective. He had an eye for photography and he was good at convincing Ryan of accepting his choice. 

Jon made two folders—one to be sent to Penguin, and one to be put on a disk for Spencer and Ryan to keep. Maybe Jon couldn’t keep them himself, but it killed him to think about getting rid of all the ones Ryan didn’t want seen. Jon could tell from the sly smirk Spencer gave him that Spencer would keep them safe. 

The two of them kept pressing closer to Jon, and he didn’t think they realised what they were doing. They just got very into the process, reaching over Jon’s lap to point at small details, or to touch one another in a bid for attention. It was a little strange to experience, because the two seemed to communicate more through looks and brushing touches than through words. 

It reminded Jon of how he used to be with Tom, in high school, before Tom fell for Bill. And Jon really, really didn’t hold it against either of them. He was happy for them both. Like, so happy. He’d never loved Tom like that, anyway. But it didn’t make him miss the connection they’d had any less. Seeing something similar here, between Spencer and Ryan, it made the homesickness come crashing around him. 

Jon had been keeping himself so busy he hadn’t had a lot of time to think about how lonely he was in Vegas. He wasn’t the sort to feel sorry for himself anyway. But this took him unaware, making him feel an aching pang of loss in his chest and he just wanted to be back in his bed in his old apartment, or hell, even crammed in a bunk on a bus with The Academy Is…

Now wasn’t the time to have a freak out about it, so Jon shoved it to the back of his mind, focussing on the task at hand. But as if sensing something was the matter, Ryan rubbed his shoulder against Jon’s. Spencer just leaned forward and refilled Jon’s glass. 

They finished going through Ryan’s shots and Jon popped out the SD card with the rejects, passing it to Spencer, who closed it in his fist like it was something precious. It was late—going towards eleven. That hadn’t been late to Jon, before he’d started living out of his car, but he didn’t feel like leaving yet, either. 

“Would you like—” Ryan started, and stopped awkwardly. “I…you said you were happy to meet me, and I thought, maybe, that implied you liked my work?” Jon wasn’t sure Ryan had meant it to come out a question. “I mean. Maybe.” 

Jon forced himself not to grin too widely, worried Ryan might think he was being laughed at. “Yeah,” he agreed sincerely. 

Ryan looked at Spencer then back down at his hands. “I thought…I’m not supposed to show anything out of my newest collection, but I have some things I’ve been working on. Things that aren’t being published. I thought, if you liked, you could…”

“I would,” Jon said, and laid a hand on Ryan’s knee. The alcohol made him do that, he’d swear on it. He took the hand back quickly. “Like it,” he elaborated. 

Ryan went upstairs and came back with a red leather journal. He passed it to Jon and settled on the couch beside Spencer, wrapping his long limbs around his lover. Jon tried not to stare too obviously at the way they fit together, Spencer cradled in the v of Ryan’s thighs, Ryan’s chin resting on top of Spencer’s head. 

The journal looked hand bound and smelled like ink. Inside the front cover was an inscription from Spencer, but Jon felt that was a little too private to read. He flipped past to the first page of Ryan’s writing. It was elegant, in a sharp, spidery sort of way, and Jon took a moment to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of it before reading the words. 

He got lost in it, for how long he wasn’t sure. It was different than Ryan’s earlier stuff. Jon wasn’t sure that anything of Ryan’s would ever be sunshine and kittens, but this was happier. This was Ryan writing about being in love and believing in it. Just having met them, it was obvious it was about Spencer, and getting to read it felt strangely intimate. 

There wasn’t only poetry. There were several short stories, most no longer than a page or two, though one went on for seven pages, and there were some outlines for longer pieces. Mostly it was poetry, though, or collections of phrases that were almost more powerful for their brevity. A lot of it was matched with chords and progressions scribbled in the margins and notes for each syllable. 

Jon didn’t realise he was humming under his breath until Ryan spoke. “We had…Originally, a lot of my poetry was meant to be lyrics. I still write it like that, even though no one will ever hear it. I can’t help it.” 

“If you can write like this…” Jon wasn’t sure how to phrase his question. “This looks _good_. And you play drums?” he directed at Spencer, who nodded. “So I take it the guitar is yours?” he said to Ryan. 

Ryan sighed. “We had a band, in school. Our friend Brent played bass, I was on guitar and vocals. But I’m better at writing the words than singing them, and there aren’t really a lot of venues for aspiring artists in Vegas, and then we went to college and I got published and…” he shrugged. 

“Why isn’t this stuff being published, though?” Jon asked. Some of it dated back a few years, including Jon’s favourite, that seemed to indicate the beginning of the romantic relationship between Spencer and Ryan, the shift from friend to lover. 

Spencer and Ryan shared a look. Spencer reached out to tap his index finger against the edge of the journal. “Red, for love,” he said. 

Ryan smirked. “Celia tells me the publishers prefer teenaged angst to emotional growth and fulfilment.” 

“Seriously?” Jon asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. 

“I only have one more book with them before my contract is up. Then I can take all my happy poetry someplace else,” Ryan said, like it wasn’t a big deal, but Jon could see the tension in Ryan’s shoulders, around his mouth. Spencer rubbed the back of Ryan’s hand and Ryan melted against him. 

“Do you have any of _your_ other stuff on there?” Ryan asked, nodding towards Jon’s laptop. 

“Some older stuff. Most of my current work is at the studio.” 

“Will you show it to us?” Ryan asked, looking at Jon from under his lashes, his long fingers stroking through Spencer’s hair. Spencer gave Jon this assessing look that left him feeling stripped bare. Jon’s whole head felt fuzzy, and he knew he’d had way too much wine, because everything was in soft focus. Ryan’s words and Spencer’s expression seemed laced with suggestion. 

Jon didn’t like to watch people looking at his stuff, so he opened the folder of stored photos from his senior project then got up to look through their music collection. There were some sweet albums that caught Jon’s eye, but some important names were missing, too. Jon told himself he’d have to work on their musical education, and he let himself believe he’d have the opportunity, because this wasn’t just a business meeting anymore. 

He hadn’t got much of a chance to examine the living room when he’d visited before, mostly too surprised to see his own work on the wall. Now he took the opportunity, circling the room, noticing all the smaller details. There were dozens of small, scattered frames holding pictures of Ryan and Spencer together at various ages, from the most recent looking Spencer placing a showy kiss on Ryan’s cheek while Ryan smiled all big and faux surprise. The furthest back he was sure it was still them, they looked to be eight or nine, Ryan all gangly limbs wrapped around Spencer’s bulkier frame. 

There were others, of younger children that he could guess were still them. A lot of the pictures had a couple other boys, or a family that resembled Spencer strongly, but there were no adults or children who held a familial resemblance to Ryan. Jon knew he shouldn’t be surprised, given what he’d read about Ryan’s family, but it was still strange to see. 

When he came back, Spencer and Ryan separated, making a space between them for him again. The laptop was set on the coffee table and they leaned forward to keep looking. “Can we look at the others?” Spencer asked, eyeing the other folders. 

Jon shrugged. Ryan’s poetry was a lot more private than anything on Jon’s computer. It was only fair. And if they genuinely liked his stuff, there was no reason to stop them. 

The only excuse Jon had was that he was still sort of drunk, and exhausted, and he didn’t even think anything of it when Spencer clicked the folder that held the photo of Ryan. He didn’t even think about it until the picture was on the screen, and even then it took him a second to realise it wasn’t just one of the ones he’d set aside to send to the publishers. 

“You’re not supposed to have this,” Spencer murmured. He stared at the screen with a small frown wrinkling his brow. 

“I’ll delete it,” Jon said quickly, reaching to do just that. 

Spencer grabbed his wrist. “Don’t,” he said, and he didn’t sound angry. 

Ryan leaned forward to look more closely, studying it for a long moment, and said, “Oh. That’s…” He turned to Jon and the expression on his face was identical to the one in the picture, that same _longing_. Directed at Jon. It didn’t make any sense. It certainly wasn’t the reaction Jon would have expected. Ryan’s gaze flicked to Jon’s mouth, and all Jon could think was that Ryan was about to kiss him. 

Jon broke the moment, slamming the lid of the laptop closed. “Sorry. It’s getting late. I think I’m sober enough.” He jammed his computer in its bag without looking at either of them. “I’ll delete it when I get back to the office.” He stood, shouldering his bag. 

“Please don’t,” Spencer said, voice strange, and it made Jon turn to look at them. Ryan shook his head ‘no,’ expression impossible to read now. “Don’t delete it.” 

“I have to go,” Jon said. “I have a wedding tomorrow.” 

They saw him to the door, and all the easiness of the early evening was gone. Jon felt tense, skin pulled too tight. He wasn’t _used_ to this. He wasn’t sure if he had the energy to try to be friends with these two. They made him feel a little crazy. 

Still. They stood in the doorway, hips angled together. The space between their bodies made Jon think, inexplicably, of the night and sweat and longing. And Ryan said, “Can we get your number? Your cell number, not the business one?” 

And Jon didn’t even hesitate. He pulled his phone out and entered both their cell numbers and their home number when they gave them, and gave his in return. He got the feeling it didn’t matter whether he had the energy or not. 

He got the feeling he’d found a reason for coming to Vegas that didn’t have anything to do with money or job security or any of that bullshit. He got the feeling he’d found the reason for staying. 

Jon parked in a lot closer to Ryan and Spencer’s part of town that night, unwilling to drive very far. The alcohol was still making him sluggish and he was so fucking tired these days, no matter how much sleep he got. Just before he passed out he got a text from Spencer saying, _please keep it, but send me a copy_. Jon hugged the phone to his chest as he fell to sleep. 

It was over two weeks before Jon saw them again, but he knew that was more because of how busy he was than out of any lack of interest on any of their parts. Ryan would send him the occasional text, when he came out of his writing trance long enough to remember there was a world outside. They were random snippets of poems or just strangely profound observations of daily life, and they always stuck with Jon the rest of the day, running over and over in his mind.

Spencer texted him all the time. They got into long, intricate text wars over deep, important shit like banjo vs. lyre and Luke Skywalker vs. Han Solo. Jon was still pretty sure Spencer was only arguing that one for argument’s sake, because Han Solo obviously won everything ever— _cool beats force sensitivity any day, Smith_. It was fun, though, so he didn’t mind. 

He found himself smiling and laughing more, at the sheer absurdity of Spencer’s texts, and suddenly, things seemed easier at work. Jake wasn’t so much of an asshole, and Stephanie talked to him more, about stuff other than work, and Rose said, “I’m glad you’re finally making some friends.” And Jon was so used to being the laidback guy that he hadn’t even realised how tense and high-strung he’d been since arriving in Vegas. 

Ryan texted him on a Tuesday morning almost three weeks after they’d met and said _publishrs thrwing big pre-release party ths wknd come save menSpence from abject boredome_ Jon always got a kick out of Ryan’s texts, with their inconsistent spelling and grammar and general disregard for things like punctuation. 

_tell me when and where_ , Jon wrote back, and then forgot about it with the whirlwind of appointments the rest of the day. 

When he got back to the office close to six, Stephanie was just leaving for her evening class. “Courier came by for you. I left the envelope on your desk.” 

“Cool, thanks,” Jon said, catching Spencer’s name on receiving slip. He felt a grin spreading over his lips, unbidden. 

Stephanie paused at the door. “Some friends are going out for drinks after class tonight,” she said, like she was unsure of herself. “A place by campus. You could come, if you don’t have anything else…”

Jon almost said ‘no’ without really thinking about it, but caught himself at the last second. He hadn’t used to be the guy who’d turned down invitations for hanging out. He used to be the guy who _extended_ all the invitations. The guy everyone knew. The life of the party. 

He missed Chicago and he missed Tom and Bill and Butcher and Mike and fuck, even Sisky Biz. He missed the feel of Cassie’s skin and the smell of her hair, and knowing that even if no one was around, she was. He missed his parents and his brothers. But he wasn’t going to be the guy who gave up. 

It was hard, doing this, but he was making a place for himself, but he’d known that photography was never going to be an easy road. Maybe it didn’t involve smelly buses and living out of each other’s pockets, but it was a lot like what his friends had done for their bands. Jon had just never expected to feel like a stranger to himself. 

“What time does your class get out?” Jon asked. 

“Nine. We should all be there by ten after. I can give you the address,” Stephanie said, “it’s really easy to find. Right across from the student union.” 

“Just give me the name,” Jon said. “I’ll swing by when I finish up here.” 

“Yeah?” Stephanie said, her smile surprised but definitely pleased. “Awesome. I’ve been bragging about your work to a lot of my friends. I showed them some of your stuff and they all want to meet you.” 

Jon felt his skin heat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Stephanie…”

“Whatever. I know it isn’t what you really want to be doing yet, but it’s still really good,” she said. She wrote down the name of the bar and the street address and hurried off, running late. 

The envelope from Spencer held a fancy card, hand written in calligraphy, inviting Jon to the Bellagio for a banquet honouring Setting Sun Publications upcoming releases. The date was for Saturday evening at six, which was cutting it close from Jon’s last session, but living out of his car made it really easy to change on the way. There was an RSVP number at the bottom, but it had been scratched out and next to it, in Spencer’s handwriting, was written _you’re coming or I’m kicking your ass. Also, Han Solo is gay <3 SS. _

As simply as that, Jon didn’t feel the overwhelming loneliness he had a few short moments before. He went out and met Stephanie’s friends and had a few drinks and enjoyed the shitty college band on stage, and didn’t once wish for home. 

Jon had known, from movies and just because _everyone knew_ , that the Bellagio was a fucking work of art. He felt incredibly out of place pulling up to the curb in his beat-up ’93 civic, even more so since he was in a suit. He’d argued with Cassie that he wouldn’t have a use for it in Vegas, but she’d been insistent. He made a mental note to thank her later. 

He’d tried to look decent—shaved before his last job so there was no scruff, and he’d straightened his hair that morning even though he hadn’t done it once since leaving Chicago. His hair had grown out a bit longer than he was used to (he really couldn’t justify a haircut at the prices Las Vegas barbers charged). When he parted it to the side it fell across his forehead and into his eyes in a way that Cassie assured him was hot when he texted her a picture, although he thought it was vaguely emo. 

A valet came over and Jon had no idea what sort of protocol there was on tipping, or anything, so he gave the guy a five and hoped that didn’t mean his car would get fucked with. Not that there was a whole hell of a lot anyone could do to his car to make it any worse. 

The doors slid open and it was like stepping into the regency period, or something. The floors and walls were a swirl of warm coloured marble and the high ceiling was supported by pillars all throughout the room. His gaze was drawn by the blown glass skylight, bold blossoms of colour that reminded Jon vaguely of jellyfish. It shouldn’t have worked with the rest of the lobby, but it did, somehow. He’d have to come back sometime, see about getting some shots. 

There was an easel to the side of the main desk, directing attendees of the Setting Sun banquet toward the main ballroom. As he approached, Jon really began to appreciate just how out of his depth he was. There was a small line at the door, waiting, men in expensive suits and women in sparkling gowns and jewels. Jon tugged uncomfortably at his collar and held his invitation at the ready, to prove he belonged. The guy letting him in didn’t look twice, though, which helped a little. 

Jon hadn’t expected the party to be cheap, or anything, but this went way beyond his expectations. Along the wall behind the stage was a huge display of the covers for the books being honoured—two names Jon didn’t recognise, and Ryan’s, largest and in the centre. 

Tables were scattered throughout the ballroom, dressed like for a wedding or something, with fancy china and crystal and golden silverware, rose and lily centrepieces surrounded by softly glowing candles. There were two open bars, one for each side of the room, and waiters were roaming the floor with trays of champagne and appetizers. Jon grabbed a flute and set out in search of Spencer or Ryan. 

No one really paid Jon much attention as he worked his way through the crowd, but he was used to that. He was used to being a friend of the band—lingering on the sidelines while fans fawned over his friends. It had never bothered him before, and it didn’t now. Especially when he finally saw Ryan at the centre of a small crowd, looking a strange combination of bored and anxious. 

Ryan looked different, more showy, dressed up for the world. His hair was styled falling into his face and spiked up in the back and he was wearing thick black eyeliner and shiny lip gloss. Silver glitter sparkled over his lids and there was a spiral of blue drawn from the corner of his right eye. 

He was dressed in…well, Jon wasn’t exactly sure what it was supposed to be, really, because it was kind of ridiculous—a billowy white shirt under a red vest that did great things for Ryan’s figure, but had the most unfortunate collection of silk roses spilling down the shoulder. He shouldn’t have looked good in it, but he did, especially paired with the slim black pinstripe slacks and low slung red velvet belt that drew attention to his narrow little hips. 

Jon just watched him for a minute, noting the closed off posture—arms crossed over his chest, back curved, eyes downcast. He wasn’t saying a lot, just muttering short responses when the conversation required it, and Jon was just wondering if he should go to the rescue when Spencer came up alongside him and knocked their hips together. “You clean up nice,” Spencer said. 

“Thanks,” Jon said, “you too.” Of course in Jon’s limited experience, Spencer always looked pretty. He was, at least, was dressed like a normal human being, in black slacks and button down. His jacket was maybe his one concession to Ryan: black, but with scattered squares of iridescent sequins. 

Thank god you’re here,” Spencer said, voice pitched low so no one could overhear. “I got cornered by Celia, lecturing us about showing up together again.” 

“Seriously?” Jon asked, shooting him an incredulous look. 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “It’s okay for him to be bisexual, right, because he’s a poet. It’s practically expected. If he wants to run around the town with boys and girls, fine. But if he’s settled down with someone, they’d prefer it to be a woman. You know, like, the girl who sets him straight, so to speak.” 

Jon couldn’t think of anything to say to that. His felt his mouth hanging open and closed it with a snap. “I don’t think anyone could be confused about his sexuality when he walks in dressed like that,” he said at last. 

Spencer laughed, ducking his head to hide the expression when the sound caught Ryan’s attention. “‘When you’re in black slacks with accentuating off-white pinstripes, everything goes according to plan,’” Spencer quoted. 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “But did you tell him that is totally countered by the presence of that many fake flowers?” he asked. Like Ryan could read their lips, his face darkened with a scowl. Spencer laughed again, pressing his face into Jon’s shoulder. Jon gave Ryan a mischievous smile. 

Ryan’s lips tightened further and he said something to his groupies and pushed through them. “Love the look,” Jon said, trying hard not to laugh. 

“Blow me,” Ryan said, monotone, and jerked Jon’s champagne from his hand. He drank it in one gulp. “Oh my god, when can we leave?” 

“Didn’t the party just start?” Jon asked uncertainly. 

“Through your introduction, at least,” Spencer said. “Last time Celia didn’t let me hear the end of it for _months_ when the spotlight landed on an empty seat. Like I’m your fucking baby-sitter.” 

“We’re going to our table and you two are sitting on either side of me, and the minute they’ve finished their little speech, we are _out_ of here,” Ryan hissed. He grabbed Spencer’s hand and Jon’s wrist and dragged them to a table near the stage. There were name cards, and Jon was surprised to find his there along with Ryan and Spencer’s and six other names, including the other two authors. 

“I had Celia give up her seat for you,” Spencer said with a wicked little smile. “Explained that if she’d rather not, Ryan might wander away from his table at a crucial moment, looking for you.” 

“And when that didn’t move her,” Ryan said, “I told her I might forget that in public I’m supposed to behave as though Spencer is my _friend_ , and I might do something silly like, I don’t know, climbing in his lap and raping his mouth. Or something.” He had a real grin, which was rare enough, but was especially nice to see given how stressed he’d been a few minutes before. 

Jon forced himself not to react to Ryan’s words like he wanted to, because the minute Ryan had said it, Jon had imagined it and the thought of seeing Ryan and Spencer together like that made his mouth go dry. He managed to smile back, in what he hoped was a casual way. “You didn’t have to do that for me,” Jon protested. 

“We didn’t do it for you,” Spencer said, dismissive and airy, but the sparkle in his eye betrayed his tone. “We did it for us, because these things are like, worse than that time I had to take Crystal and Jackie to _New York Minute_. You have to keep us from falling asleep in our soup, or turning into zombies.” 

“Soup would totally fuck up your make-up,” Jon agreed and Ryan punched him softly on the arm. “But what’s in all this for me?” 

“The pleasure of our company isn’t enough?” Ryan scoffed, one brow raised. Jon had to squeeze his hand into a fist to fight the urge to reach out and brush Ryan’s hair back from his face. 

Jon must have made a face, because Spencer laughed. “Penguin pulls out all the stops for these things. Seriously. Check out your swag bag.” 

For the first time, Jon noticed the white and brown Gucci bags at the head of each place setting. He knew about these things—The Academy guys got them sometimes at parties—but this was way nicer than the ones he’d seen. There was a netted sack of red and blue chips for the casino with a tiny attached note telling him to enjoy, a voucher for a weekend at one of the hotel’s suites and a visit to the spa, fancy stationary, an iPod nano, and random, expensive looking candies and beauty products. 

“This is sort of insane,” Jon remarked. 

Ryan shrugged. “Jill and I bring in a lot of money,” he said, and Jon looked up at the names behind the stage, one of which was Jillian Murphy. “And some of those companies are trying to get one of us to do promotional stuff for them.” 

Jon wouldn’t have taken the stuff if Ryan had tried to give it to him directly, but it was there for everyone, and it was really nice stuff, and he couldn’t help but thinking about staying in a suite at the Bellagio, indulging in luxury after so long without. 

“I might have to come to more of your parties, Ross,” he said. 

“We hope you do,” Ryan said, eyes downcast, expression almost shy. 

A couple came over to take the seats to Jon’s right and Ryan immediately straightened his back and lifted his head. “Ryan,” the woman said, smile sharp and almost unpleasant. She was beautiful with shining blonde hair and a glittery gold dress that made her skin glow. 

“And _Spencer_. So glad to see you two sticking around for the dinner part of the dinner party this time.” Her gaze flicked to Jon. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” 

Ryan’s smile was as sharp as hers and twice as mean. “Jill. This is Jon Walker. He’s taken over Avery’s studio. I’m sure you’ll be working with him sometime in the future.” 

“I look forward to it, Mister Walker,” Jill purred, shaking his hand. 

Others started taking seats and as greetings were passed around, Ryan leaned in to whisper to Jon. “The guy with her is her husband, Marcus Whitby, but they have an open relationship. She says she has to be able to experience all the things she writes about in her books first hand. She and I have very different ideas about what it means to be talented.” 

Jill looked over at them, as if she knew Ryan was talking about her, and she gave them a speculative look, like she saw something strange. Ryan’s lips practically brushed Jon’s skin as he added, “I’d watch out, if I was you. Avery told me she tried to seduce him right in the studio.” 

Jon flushed, but he knew it had more to do with the heat of Ryan’s breath and the touch of his lips than what he’d said. He pulled away a little, ignoring the smirk on Jill’s lips and looking at Ryan. “I think I’ll be alright,” he whispered back, very aware of how close they were to one another. Jon would just need to angle his head a little and they could be kissing. “She’s really not my type.” 

Ryan leaned back, resting against Spencer’s arm, and the two of them both smiled at Jon. “Good to know,” Ryan said lightly, and Spencer rubbed his cheek against Ryan’s hair, nodding his agreement. 

Conversation over dinner was interesting. There was no way it couldn’t be, with three authors. The other man, Daniel Seymour, got on much better with both Ryan and Jill, and seemed to be interested in keeping the peace at the table. Jon realised he’d heard of both Jill and Daniel’s work, the names of their books familiar. 

The food was pretty awesome, if way fancier than what Jon was used to. He was happy with pizza or his mom’s meatloaf, but this was good, too. Even better was the way the waiter kept the liquor flowing. Spencer disappeared sometime during the second course, but Ryan didn’t look overly concerned about it.

It was close to eight when dessert was laid out on the table, and a man took to the stage. Spencer slipped back into his seat just in time for the speech to begin. “Score,” he hissed, and Ryan and Jon leaned in towards him. “Don’t say your famous name never did nothing for you,” Spencer said, and produced three tickets with a flourish. 

“Spencer Smith, you are my sun, moon and deadly meteor,” Ryan whispered gleefully and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. He took the tickets, angling them so Jon could read. They were for the Cirque show at the Bellagio, starting in ten minutes. 

“Okay,” Ryan said. And they put their heads together to devise the game plan for their escape. As soon as Ryan’s introduction had been made—one of his poems was read, and then the spotlight fell on him and he raised up a little bit, waving at the crowd—and the announcer moved on to Daniel, the three were up and out of their seats, heads low, hurrying to the door and trying not to giggle too loudly. 

They made it to their seats at the front of the theatre just in time for the lights to dim. “We can go to the casino, after,” Ryan said, over the music of the overture. “By the time this lets out most everyone from Setting Sun should be gone.” 

The show was, predictably, awesome. Jon had never been to one before, but he’d heard enough about it to know that it lived up to the hype. After, Ryan made Spencer scope out the casino to make sure Jill and Celia weren’t around, and when Spencer announced a clear coast, they went in. 

Technically, Spencer wasn’t legal, but no one said anything to him. Jon had thought casinos were stricter than that, but maybe it had something to do with Ryan’s famous name, again. Spencer didn’t play, though, just kept at Jon and Ryan’s shoulders as they moved from the craps table to the blackjack. 

Jon was a fan of cards. He’d been banned from more than one game on The Academy’s bus when he’d been on a winning streak. Gambling here was even better, playing with someone else’s money. He managed to double the chips from his swag bag, and Spencer seemed to approve. 

“Spence’s gonna make you play him when we get home, now,” Ryan said. “As soon as he turns twenty-one he’s going to get a job as a croupier. He kicks ass at poker and blackjack, but he’s gotten too good at reading me.” Ryan sighed heavily and gave Jon a look of faux regret. “Says I’m predictable…He’s grown bored of me.” 

“That’s right,” Spencer agreed. “I’m kicking his ass to the curb.” He threw an arm around Ryan’s hips, drawing him close as they walked, and Jon would never get used to how pretty the two of them looked together. 

They ended up playing well into the early morning, drinking and talking and eventually wandering down the street to an all-night buffet where they managed to sweet talk a waitress into serving them waffles and eggs even though it wasn’t technically breakfast time yet. 

Ryan was practically dead on his feet by the time they got their cars back from the valet at the Bellagio. Jon helped him into the passenger seat while Spencer got behind the wheel. Ryan smiled sleepily at Jon, and reached out to cup his face in his palm. Jon thought he should move away, but he didn’t want to. “We like you, Jon,” Ryan said. 

Jon took Ryan’s hand in his and didn’t know what possessed him, but he brushed a kiss over Ryan’s fingertips, looking at Spencer. Spencer’s eyes were dark, but not disapproving. “I like you guys, too,” Jon said. 

“So you’ll come over Tuesday for game night, right?” Ryan asked guilelessly. 

Jon laughed, dropping Ryan’s hand. “I’ll be there.” 

Spencer bit his lip against a smile. “See you then.” 

Jon was worn out, but it took him forever to fall asleep that night. He had to find an underground lot so he wouldn’t be too hot when the sun rose, and it was darker and more private than he was used to, and Jon could only think of the feel of Ryan’s hand against his cheek, and the way Spencer’s teeth looked, pressing into his full lower lip. 

*

Jon had thought he’d die waiting for Tuesday night. He woke late Sunday morning and dragged himself into the office. No one came in on Sundays. Sometimes he or the others went out for shoots, but it was at their discretion. He managed to get a few things done, but when his phone buzzed at three, Jon welcomed the distraction. 

_couldn’t wait til tues_ , Spencer wrote. _come suffer w/me thru rys pretentous french cinema?_

_be there in twenty_ , Jon wrote back, without even really thinking about it. 

He was still tired from the previous night, but Spencer and Ryan didn’t look much better off. The two of them curled up on the couch, and though they left room for Jon, he didn’t feel right taking it. He sat in the armchair instead, and totally imagined the disappointed look on Ryan’s face. 

Spencer was right—Ryan had, like, incredibly pretentious taste in movies, while Spencer was into more of the same stuff as Jon—action and humour. They had a nice collection of films and made a pile of the ones Jon hadn’t seen for them to work through. It was tall enough, Jon noted, that even if they got together every Sunday, it was going to be months before they worked through them all. 

They ordered Chinese and Jon showed them his expertise at mixing drinks, delighted to find they’d been hiding a wet bar in the kitchen. He dozed off sometime during the strange, Spanish language zombie movie and when he woke the room was all dark. A figure was moving around and he sat up, but Spencer moved to him and pushed a hand against his chest. 

“You should stay,” Spencer whispered. “It’s late, and you’re wasted.” 

“I don’t want to—” Jon said, feeling something like panic unfurling in his chest and he didn’t even understand why. 

Spencer’s fingers brushed against his mouth. “It’s late. Don’t be stupid, Jon Walker. I already hid your keys.” 

Jon let out a puff of air, couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or happy. “Spence.” 

“Jon,” Spencer said back. “I brought down a pillow and a blanket. You’ll be more comfortable on the couch, though.” 

Jon could argue, but he didn’t have anywhere to go but the backseat of his car, and he really was fucking wasted. “I don’t want to impose.” 

Spencer laughed softly. “You really, really aren’t,” he whispered. “But if it’ll make you feel better, you can make us breakfast in the morning.” 

Jon had to smile. He couldn’t help it. “Deal,” he said. 

It was supposed to be awkward in the morning, Jon thought. He hardly knew Spencer and Ryan, and he’d felt like an intruder, sleeping on their couch, but it had been the best sleep he’d had since he’d arrived in Vegas. 

He had a moment to feel uncomfortable when he first woke, the condo still and silent all around him. Then a door opened upstairs and Boba and Hobo came bounding down the stairs, honing in on Jon like radar and painting his face with kisses. 

Ryan came down after them, smiling sleepily at Jon. “We were worried you’d take off before we woke up,” he said. 

Jon relaxed, his chest loosening. “Well, Spence hid my keys.” 

Ryan let the dogs out back and shared a cigarette with Jon on the porch while they waited on the coffee. When they got back inside, Spencer was already at the stove making omelettes. 

“I thought that was my job,” Jon protested. 

“It’s already 9:30,” Spencer said in a reasonable tone of voice. “The studio opens at ten, right? You should go shower.” 

Jon couldn’t argue with that tone. Ryan gave him towels and took a fresh shirt from his and Spencer’s closet for Jon. “Don’t think I’d fit in your pants?” Jon teased, and didn’t realise how bad that sounded until it was already out of his mouth. 

Ryan worked his tongue across his lower lip and said, voice low, “It might be a tight fit.” 

Jon hurried to shower and told himself he wasn’t going to jerk off in Ryan and Spencer’s shower because that was _wrong_. But he closed his eyes and saw them against his lids, touching one another, giving him those _looks_ , and he couldn’t help it. 

When he came downstairs, he was sure they could tell, somehow. He wanted to just get out as fast as he could, but Spencer had made breakfast for him and Jon wasn’t going to be rude after how nice they’d been to him. He hurried through it, barely tasting anything but the burn of the coffee on his tongue. Spencer and Ryan kept exchanging meaningful looks across the table, and it was making Jon really uneasy. 

“See you tomorrow night,” Spencer said, when he walked him out, producing Jon’s keys from his pocket. He tossed them over for Jon to catch. 

Jon couldn’t figure it out, how they could make him simultaneously so comfortable and so uncomfortable, but it didn’t really matter. He knew he was going to keep coming back for more. “Tomorrow night,” he agreed. 

After that, Tuesday really did take forever to come. Jon spent most of the time working, but even so, time seemed to crawl. Spencer texted him regularly to brag about how badly Jon was going to crash and burn, and while Jon wasn’t really the competitive sort, he had fun baiting Spencer with irreverent arguments like how no one who wore so much pink could hope to beat a real man at video games. 

Tuesday afternoon Ryan texted to ask what sort of pizza Jon wanted and Jon wrote back _dude, i'm from chicago that shit your ordering isn’t real pizza anyway_. Ryan sent him back an emoticon rolling its eyes and said _fine but when i order something crazy you’re totally eating it_. And a few minutes later Spencer wrote to say, _byob unless u wanna drink that shit ry calls beer…bring enough for me 2_. 

Jon wrote back _your just using me 4 my id_ , and Spencer didn’t respond for a really long time, probably trying to think up an appropriately bitchy comment. Finally, all he got back was _it’s you’re, dumbass._

_your dumbass_ , Jon wrote back, grinning, and a second later Spencer sent him a heart. Jon had to keep reminding himself that Spencer was just a nice person, and that this flirty playfulness didn’t mean the same thing to him that it did to Jon. It didn’t make Jon anticipate the texts any less. 

When he knocked on the door someone shouted it was open. He was late; his last appointment had run over and he’d gone back to the studio to wash up and change before heading over. There was already a small crowd in the living room, and every surface was covered in pizza, junk food, soda and beer, a far cry from the neatness Jon had observed before. 

“Jon!” Ryan said, tried to stand up from the couch and sank back again almost at once. He giggled tipsily. The girl beside him shook her head but didn’t spare him a glance, focussing on the screen and pressing buttons furiously. Something she did made the guy on the floor toss his controller away in disgust. 

Spencer came into the room from the kitchen. “Did I hear Jon is here?” he asked, and grinned wide when he saw Jon. “Did you bring me real beer?” 

Jon held up the Corona and Spencer let out a groan of pleasure. “Jon Walker, you love me so good.” 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed easily. Spencer took and set aside the beer. He grabbed Jon’s wrist, dragging him into the room, in front of the television. The girl closest to Ryan made an annoyed sound and paused the game. 

“Bitchy McBitch there, next to Ryan, is my sister Jackie,” Spencer said. 

“Learned from the best,” Jackie said, flipping Spencer off. Spencer blew her a kiss. 

Spencer pointed to the girl next to Jackie, who bore her a close resemblance. “And my other sister Crystal.” Crystal waved distractedly, trying to look around Spencer’s hips at the screen. “Brent,” Spencer went on, and the guy sitting sideways in the armchair nodded, “and Tyler.” The guy on the floor flashed Jon a quick smile. “And this is Jon.” 

“Hey,” Jon said, smiling the smile that Bill told him was charming. Crystal and Jackie looked like they melted a little at least. 

Crystal inched over a little. “You can sit here,” she said, patting the spot beside her. 

Spencer made a small, amused sound. “He’s like, ten years too old for you,” Spencer said. 

“Fuck you,” Crystal said, colouring. 

“Yeah,” Jon muttered. He wasn’t _that_ old. Not that he felt like scamming on Spencer’s little sister. “Fuck you, Spencer.” 

Spencer gave him a sly little look and slunk off back to the kitchen. Ryan rolled his eyes at Jackie and Crystal and, despite their protests, pushed them down the sofa so that Jon could sit next to him. “Thanks,” Jon murmured. 

Ryan gave him that look he had, from under his lashes, that made him look sleepy and sexy. “You might have been safer with them,” he commented lightly, and took a swig from his bottle. 

Spencer came back with an open corona for him and one for Jon and kicked Jackie on the floor so there was room on the couch. Ryan immediately scooted down and dragged Jon with him so that Spencer had to sit on Jon’s other side. 

“Glad you came,” Ryan said, and laid his head on Jon’s shoulder. Jon froze, glancing at Spencer out of the corner of his eye, but Spencer just smiled and laid his head on Jon’s other shoulder. 

Jon told himself it wasn’t anything unusual. Being on the road with The Academy Is…, Cobra Starship, and Gym Class Heroes had taught Jon that boys cuddling was normal, straight, and totally acceptable between friends. Ryan and Spencer seemed to be fairly tactile. That was all. Only Jon was definitely not taking it in a straight friends sort of way. He really was the worst sort of stalkerish pervert ever. 

After Crystal, Jackie and Tyler finished their game, Spencer, Brent, Jon and Tyler had a Smash Bros. marathon, and when Jon’s thumbs were sore, he passed the controller off to Jackie. Ryan immediately cuddled closer to Jon’s side and Jon gave in to what he wanted, anyway, and put his arm around Ryan’s shoulder. 

Ryan plastered himself to Jon’s side, cheek resting above Jon’s heart. “You’re so warm, and you smell like winter,” Ryan murmured. 

Jackie laughed, poking Ryan’s thigh with her toe. “You’re wasted.” 

“Maybe,” Ryan agreed amiably. 

“Maybe,” Spencer agreed, passing his controller to Crystal. He nudged at Jon’s arm until Jon pulled him close, too. “But he’s right.” He reached for Ryan’s hand, lacing their fingers together over Jon’s stomach. 

Brent snorted. “You’ve never even been anywhere there’s a winter,” he said. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Ryan said, rubbing his face against Jon’s shirt. Jon struggled to keep his heartbeat under control, but Ryan had to hear it racing. 

“I should probably be going,” Jon said, delicately trying to untangle himself from them. 

Ryan made a sound of disapproval and his fingers tightened around Spencer’s, holding Jon in place. “Game night, Jon,” Spencer protested. He titled his head to look up at Jon, silky hair falling in a mess of tangles, blue eyes bright and wide, mouth just slightly parted, like it wanted to be kissed. 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, and was proud how even his voice came out. “But I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Gotta go pay the rent.” Or he would, eventually. 

Jon ended up in the same parking lot near to their house as before. He wasn’t really drunk, but this part of town was safer, and security at his newest place had to be recognising his car by now. He parked at the far end, away from the doors of the all night Vons, under a light, curled up under his blanket, and fell asleep missing the press of Ryan and Spencer against his sides. 

No more than an hour or two could have passed before he was woken up by someone knocking on the back window. There was a dark figure backlit, the light spilling around almost blinding. A cop, or security, maybe. It wasn’t the first time he’d been told to move on. At least he hadn’t gotten any tickets, or shit. 

Jon sat up, feeling slow and groggy and muffled a yawn with his hand. “Sorry officer,” he mumbled, cranking the manual window. “I’m going right now.” 

“Yeah,” said a familiar voice and Jon blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “You are,” Ryan said. “To my place. God, you are so stupid.” He had a twenty-four pack under one arm and a handful of bags hanging from the wrist of the other. 

“Ryan?” Jon asked. “Shit. I thought. Look, it isn’t a big deal. I got tired on the way home and I didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.” 

Ryan’s mouth was a tight, angry line. “Right,” he said. “And you just happen to keep a pillow, blanket, and all the fucking clothes you own in a bunch of plastic bags in your car.” 

“Ryan,” Jon said. 

“You’re coming home with me,” Ryan said. He set down the beer and reached through the window to unlock the front door, tossing his bags in the passenger seat. “Spence and I can come back in the morning for my car.” 

“Ryan,” Jon tried. 

“I don’t trust you to follow on your own,” Ryan said. He climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door unnecessarily hard. “Give me your keys.” He didn’t look at Jon, staring straight ahead through the windshield, holding out his palm. 

There was a coldness in Ryan’s voice that had never been there before, even when they’d first met. “Ryan, I didn’t think…what was I supposed to say?” 

“Give me your keys, Jon,” Ryan said, shaking his palm. His voice sounded softer, though. Jon fished his keys out of his pocket and laid them in Ryan’s hand. 

They made the drive in silence and when they came in the front door, everyone was still there. The room at large gave Jon a strange look. Ryan threw the beer and bags down near the couch and jerked his head at Spencer. “Upstairs,” he said, and Spencer got up at once. Ryan gave Jon a blank look. “You, too.” 

Jon had never been in their bedroom before. He’d purposely made himself not think about it, because that led to bad places and they were his _friends_. The bed was fairly small, but given how much the two of them liked to touch, maybe they liked being forced to cuddle close together. 

There was a vanity covered in makeup and two dressers, both scattered with random knickknacks and contents of emptied pockets—tickets, receipts, change. In the bottom corner of the vanity’s mirror there was a note in Spencer’s handwriting that said _No doubts. Just I love you_. 

Jon had never heard them say those words to one another, even though it was obvious that was how they felt. But seeing them in Spencer’s hand, a message that meant more to the two of them than he would ever understand, made Jon feel sick to his stomach. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten under his skin so quickly, and he didn’t know how to get them out. 

“What’s up?” Spencer asked, looking between Ryan and Jon. His face was calm, but Jon could see the apprehension in the set of his shoulders. 

“Do you want to tell him?” Ryan asked Jon. 

Jon spread his hands helplessly. “Look, Ryan, you’re making a way bigger deal out of this than you need to.” 

Ryan’s eyes got wide and his jaw tensed. “Okay, Jon,” he said at last, through clenched teeth. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Spencer and crossed his legs. “Explain how it isn’t a big deal.” 

“I—” Jon was a loss. It _wasn’t_ a big deal, though he could see how someone else might think so. But he wasn’t starving or anything, and it wasn’t like he was going to be living in his car forever. He had a job and a plan. 

“I just came out here, you know,” he said slowly. “And I was supposed to buy the business with another guy. I was going to stay with him, but he ended up bailing on me, and the loan was in my name, and I wanted to do this anyway. It’s just…It’s just for a little while, you know,” he said, eyes on Ryan’s, willing him to understand. 

“What is?” Spencer asked slowly, voice taking on the same chilly tone as Ryan’s. “Jon?” 

“I’ve been working extra jobs, setting aside some money. I should be able to get an apartment in another couple months,” Jon said. 

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “Where are you staying _now_?” 

“In his car!” Ryan snapped. “In his mother fucking _car_ , Spencer. Jesus.” He stood up, running his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you _say_ something?” 

“Because it wasn’t a big deal!” Jon snapped back. He’d made his own choices and he didn’t regret them and Ryan didn’t get to get so worked up about this. “We barely know each other! I had to sign a privacy agreement before I could even come to your house. We’ve hung out a couple times.” 

Ryan took a step back, face closing off and Spencer’s face fell. “No,” Jon said quickly. “Shit.” He shook his head. “Look, I didn’t. I didn’t mean it like…”

“Whatever,” Spencer said. He stood too, hands on his hips. “It’s late. You’re staying here, obviously. We can talk about this tomorrow.” 

“Guys,” Jon said. 

“Shut up,” Ryan said, furious, and stormed out of the room. 

Spencer’s lips twisted in a scowl and he glared at Jon and he was beautiful, even like that. “Our friendship might not mean a lot to you, Jon, but you mean a lot to us. So you’re staying here tonight. We can talk about it tomorrow.” 

Crystal and Jackie were sleeping over on the couch, but Brent and Tyler made their excuses a short while later and headed out. Spencer dug an air mattress out of the closet under the stairs and set it up in the study for Jon. Ryan didn’t say anything while he dressed the bed, Jon standing awkwardly in the doorway. 

He couldn’t sleep. It was warm and quiet and dark in the study, and smelled like books, which should have been comforting. But Jon kept playing what he’d said over and over in his mind, trying to figure out where it had come from. It usually took a lot get raise his temper. He’d lived on tour busses with some of the most self-absorbed assholes on the planet and had always remained calm, collected guy. And Ryan and Spencer hadn’t deserved his behaviour. 

There was a light on in Spencer and Ryan’s bedroom, coming from under their door. Jon stood outside, fighting with himself, fist raised to knock. He heard soft voices from within and tapped lightly before he could stop himself. 

“Come in,” Spencer called. 

Jon pushed open the door, standing just inside. It was hard to look at them like this, Ryan shirtless, the two of them curled up facing each other, arms tossed over waists, hands on backs. Spencer’s hair fanned out over his pillow and Ryan was wrapping a strand around his finger. 

They clearly hadn’t expected Jon because they jumped apart when they saw him, sitting up. Ryan dragged the sheets up higher, tucking them under his arms, hiding. “What is it?” he asked. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jon said. “I had to tell you I’m sorry.” 

Spencer sighed and shook his head. “It’s alright. Just go to sleep.” 

“No,” Jon said. He closed the door and crossed to the bed, sitting down on the edge. Ryan drew his legs higher, away from Jon. Jon reached out and caught one ankle through the sheet, holding gently. “Ryan. I didn’t mean it how it sounded.” 

Ryan crossed his arms and titled his head back defiantly. “Look,” Jon said. “This whole thing, with my car. I haven’t told anyone, okay? Not my parents or any of my friends from home, or anyone at work. And I—it’s not like I’m embarrassed. It just isn’t that big of a deal. I knew buying a business was going to be hard, I was prepared for that. I’m not sick or starving or anything.” 

“Jon,” Spencer said in a reasonable tone of voice, “you have to realise how crazy that sounds. Especially when you didn’t _have_ to be doing it.” 

“I hadn’t even met you guys when I started,” Jon said. He made himself remain calm, trying to find that centre that he’d used to have. He was beginning to think it had a lot more to do with all the beer and weed he’d been consuming once upon a time than with anything he possessed innately. “And what I said, earlier, about us…”

Ryan didn’t look impressed, and Spencer’s face was understanding but not particularly _nice_ or welcoming. Jon stroked his thumb over Ryan’s ankle. “You guys are different from anyone I’ve been friends with before, and I mean that in the best way possible, really. _Really_ ,” he added vehemently, because outside of Tom, a lot of his friends tended to be spazzy flakes. 

“I feel like there’s so much we don’t know about each other,” Jon said, “and I _want_ to know. But you two are so private and I don’t know what’s allowed, okay?” 

Spencer leaned forward to catch Jon’s hand, threading their fingers together. Spencer’s hand was a lot smaller than Jon’s, warmer, but strong, and Jon liked the way it fit in his. “Our friendship isn’t conditional, Jon,” Spencer said softly, and he sounded sad. 

“I just,” Jon began and stopped. He felt greedy. He wanted to know everything about them. He wanted to know their friendship was unconditional because he knew it, not because of anything one of them had said. “I’ve had a lot of fun hanging out with you guys but I don’t really know you.” 

Spencer shot Ryan a look and the two of them seemed to be communicating silently. Ryan uncrossed his arms and stretched them out, hands gesturing, like he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say. Jon caught a glimpse of the ink on the inside of his wrist again, saw that it was on both wrists, that they were words, but he couldn’t read them. He was struck with the totally inappropriate urge to lick them. 

“Most people,” Ryan said. He paused, staring at his hands like they held the answers to the universe. “Most people don’t want to get to know other people. Not really. Most people are looking for someone to share their interests and talk about themselves to, and have fun with. 

“But they don’t like knowing what’s going on below the surface. They don’t like seeing the messy stuff. Jon, I’m a mess,” Ryan said, voice soft. 

Jon let go of Ryan’s ankle to grab one of his hands. “I’m not most people, Ryan. I thought I told you. And I prefer a mess to neat and boring. I _like_ messes.” _I’m good at cleaning them up_ he didn’t say, but he squeezed both their hands tighter. 

Ryan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it again, pouting. “Will you stay here, Jon?” he asked. “Until you have a real place to live?” 

It still felt strange, but if it was what he had to do to keep their friendship, he would do it. He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I want to.” And it was true, no matter how awkward things got. 

Spencer’s lips turned up a little at the corners. “You know,” he said slowly, “Ryan was way worse when my mom first invited him to stay with us. I mean, more than just staying the night. When she said he could stay as long as he wanted.” 

Ryan made a noise like he wanted to protest, trying to pull his hand out of Jon’s. But Jon smiled and smoothed his thumb along the skin between Ryan’s index finger and thumb and Ryan stilled. “Yeah?” Jon asked. 

“He had trouble believing that people would just do something nice and not expect anything in return,” Spencer whispered. 

Jon looked at Ryan. “Yeah?” he asked again. Ryan’s early poetry especially was a story of loss and confusion and hatred and loneliness and just _hurt_. There were assumptions Jon could make, conclusions he could draw, but he’d rather hear the words from Ryan’s lips, not in words carefully coded for public consumption. 

Ryan let out a shaky breath, shoulders loosening. “People take what they want,” he whispered. “And they’ll lie to get it, steal, do whatever they have to so they can get it.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie to you,” Jon said. “I didn’t mean to do it, but I realise I did, and I’m sorry.” 

Ryan’s fingers tightened and loosened again quickly, like an involuntary spasm. “We weren’t really being fair, either,” Spencer said. “We don’t have a lot of friends, and those are all people we’ve known forever. I guess we don’t really know how to do this start from scratch thing…”

And Jon had known, _known_ how special it was that they were letting him in, letting him close. He’d known they were private and insular, but hearing Spencer say as much brought it home, just what it meant to him and to Ryan to even try. 

Game nights in Chicago were impromptu, not planned, and there were always dozens of people cramming into an apartment or on a bus, old friends, new ones, casual acquaintances…Game night here was Spencer’s family and two guys they’d probably known since middle school, and Jon. 

“Usually I’m a lot better at it,” Jon confided. “But usually I don’t think I care so much.” 

Spencer’s face lit up in one of his blinding smiles, happy and effusive. Ryan’s smile was more sedate, chin tucked to his chest to hide it, but no less pleased. It made Jon brave, and he began to talk. 

He told them about skipping out on school to travel with his friends, and admitted things to Spencer and Ryan that he’d never even told, about how he’d got bitter sometimes, how hard it was to watch the band get big while all of Jon’s dreams were on hold. He told them about Cassie, and how he’d once thought they would be forever, and when he’d realised they were over. He told them about how he missed having a cat and playing music and getting high. 

When he felt like he’d said too much, talked too long, Ryan started speaking. He began watching Jon’s hand in his, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, as he spoke of his mother leaving and his father’s drinking. But his voice got stronger and eventually he met Jon’s eyes with his own, talking about meeting Spencer, and all the poor ways he’d dealt with abuse, and when he’d realised that Spencer was his best friend but also _so much more_. 

Jon didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke up he was slumped over sideways on the bed, feet hanging off the edge, head pillowed on Spencer’s hip. Ryan’s long fingers were twined in Jon’s hair, and it should have been weird or uncomfortable. He listened to Ryan’s steady, deep breath, and heard Spencer’s heart beating where their skin touched, and it was alright. He burrowed closer and Ryan made a sleepy sound, patting vaguely at Jon’s face, and Jon fell back asleep. 

They fell into an easy routine right from the start that dispelled Jon’s worries so quickly he barely remembered having them in the first place. Spencer and Ryan usually woke before Jon and were already showered by the time Jon got up. He showered while Ryan took care of the dogs and Spencer made breakfast. Spencer liked to cook and was good at, so Jon didn’t argue though it made him feel a little spoiled. 

Spencer was off school for the summer and spent his afternoons at special certification classes so he could become a croupier in the autumn. Ryan was always writing, but he moved around a lot doing it—going to parks or bars or restaurants. However, they were both there when Jon got home in the evenings, and they’d pile onto the couch together to work through some more of their movies over dinner, or just talk until it was way too late and Jon knew he’d be dead the next morning, but didn’t care. 

Sunday was the first day off Jon had after moving in with them. He had more energy these days, no doubt something to do with sleeping on a real bed in a real home. Even if the air mattress wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, it beat his pos car. He slept in Sunday, took a long shower and came downstairs to find Spencer and Ryan waiting expectantly. 

“We’re going out,” Ryan said, all business. “Get your camera. Hurry up.” 

Jon arched a brow. “Where are we going?” he asked. 

Spencer shook a picnic basket at him and said, “It’s a surprise. Don’t ask any more questions. I already talked Ryan out of the blindfold.” Ryan gave a toothy little smirk at that and Jon couldn’t help but smile back. 

They piled into Spencer’s hybrid SUV “because it’s Green, Ryan, and you don’t know how to drive your stupid Mercedes anyway.” It was true. More often than not, Jon observed Ryan stealing Spencer’s keys off the hook. Spencer didn’t usually mind because he did know how to drive Ryan’s car, so it all worked out in the end. 

Spencer took them down 95 for a few minutes, but then he turned onto 147, which Jon had never seen before. He sat back in his seat and watched the scenery as it passed, low-slung houses giving way to brush and then the endless stretch of desert. The road began sloping up, heading in the distance toward some truly awesome mountains full of crags and crannies visible in the sharp shadow cast by the sun. 

They turned off again before they got too far up the incline and then Jon saw their reason for coming, stretched out forever, the sun nearly blinding on the surface of the lake. The water looked a stunning blue framed by the red of the mountains. 

“You said you hadn’t really gotten a chance to get out and explore,” Spencer explained, grin wide in the review mirror. “Ryan wanted to make a trek to the Canyon, but that’s more of an all-weekend trip.” 

There was suggestion in Spencer’s voice, and Jon answered it. “I might be able to manage a free Saturday in a couple weeks,” he said. 

Ryan set off to rent them a boat, and Jon took the opportunity to wander along the shore, camera in hand. Spencer trailed along with him, taking off his shoes so he could walk in the water. The sun was behind him, and the wind from the water caught in his hair and Jon took the picture without really thinking about it. Spencer laughed at him, and Jon had to take another. 

“I’m not the photogenic one,” Spencer said. 

“I really, really beg to differ,” Jon said, bumping their shoulders together. Spencer bumped back affectionately, biting his lip against a smile. “Is it…is it okay?” 

Spencer frowned. “Is what…? Taking my picture? I don’t know why you’d want to,” he said, laugh somewhat derisive, “but knock yourself out.” 

Ryan called for them and Spencer shook his head. “He probably got something that needs a crew of ten to pilot it,” he said. His expression was fondly annoyed. Jon took a picture of that, too. “Seriously?” Spencer asked, smiling like he couldn’t help it. 

“Hey. I’m a professional,” Jon said sternly. “I know what I’m doing.” 

Ryan’s boat turned out to be a sail boat, and luckily Jon had enough experience with those to get them out of the dock and into open water without much difficulty. Spencer claimed the hammock strung across the deck, pulling out a book. Ryan laid out a towel and shimmied out of his clothes until he was left in his boxers, entirely unconcerned that the sight was not one for which Jon was prepared. 

Jon made himself look away at the scenery _outside_ of the boat, focussing on the interesting formations of the rocks. The area of the lake Spencer had chosen started wide but narrowed fairly quickly, and Jon led them through that pass, getting some interesting shots. 

Before long, though, his viewfinder was drawn back inside the boat—the look of concentration on Spencer’s face, the way his fingers gripped his book, the long, elegant twist of his body in the hammock, curves on nice display. And Ryan, laid out like a wet dream, small of his back slightly arched, drawing the muscles of his stomach tight, pulling tan skin thin over delicate bones. 

There was a mark on his collarbone, purple and pink, in the rough shape of Spencer’s mouth, and just peeking out from the waist of his boxers, there was the shadow of a bruise in the shape of a finger. 

Ryan pushed up on his elbows and flicked up his sunglasses to pin Jon with a look. “We brought you out here to appreciate the view,” he said, and sounded amused, though his expression gave away nothing. 

“I am,” Jon leered, and took another shot. 

“You going to send those shots to my editor?” Ryan asked. 

“I thought I’d keep these ones for myself,” Jon said. It was a question, no matter how lightly he tried to play it off. 

Ryan just made a huffy sound and laid back down, letting his glasses drop back into place. Jon caught a hint of ink with the motion. “Let me see your tattoos,” he said. Ryan’s lips twisted in a lazy smirk. He raised his arms over his head, crossing them at the wrist, one slightly lower than the other so that both tattoos were left visible. Jon didn’t think of pinning those wrists in place, of lowering himself over Ryan’s body, of feeling Spencer along his back. 

Jon glanced at Spencer guiltily, and Spencer was watching them, book forgotten at his side. His eyes were narrowed against the sunlight and unreadable. Jon had never known this feeling, this overwhelming desire for two people simultaneously. He’d had his share of lovers, and even when he’d been with Cassie he’d been able to recognise an attractive person. But it had never been as strong as desire. He’d never wanted to _act_ on it. 

He cleared his throat. “I know those lyrics,” he said, instead of doing all the things he wanted to do. He thought of the rest of the lyrics to the song and wondered what Ryan had thought, putting these words on himself. If he thought he was depreciated in value because of them. 

“Yeah?” Ryan asked. “Most people don’t.” 

Jon snapped a few pictures, liking the shadow Ryan’s right arm cast over the left, the dip of his palm, the wind-tossed fall of curls across his forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you, Ross. I’m not most people.” 

Ryan smiled. “I’m getting that,” he murmured. 

“Jon,” Spencer called imperiously. “Drop the anchor and come take a nap with me.” 

“He slept half the morning away,” Ryan protested. 

“I don’t care,” Spencer said. “I’m sleepy, and I want to cuddle, and you’re all bones.” 

Ryan sputtered indignantly and Jon dropped anchor. The hammock was wide but swung precariously when Jon rolled into it. Spencer moved to lay himself half overtop of Jon, one leg tossed over both of Jon’s, hand and cheek on Jon’s chest. Jon got an arm around Spencer’s shoulder and put his other behind his head, staring up at the cloudless sky. 

“Nap,” Spencer said, “and then you can appreciate my gourmet lunch.” 

“If, by gourmet, you mean purchased at Subway, okay,” Ryan shot back snidely. 

“I purchased your mom at Subway, if by purchased you mean banged hard,” Spencer grumbled sleepily. 

Jon chuckled and tightened his arm a little, pulling Spencer close. He was getting used to how tactile they were, even after living with them less than a week. He’d taken to sitting with them on the sofa because it was more comfortable than the armchair, and they could be insistent. Spencer fit nicely against Jon’s side, and was soft and warm to touch. 

He didn’t really sleep, but dozed a bit, and when he opened his eyes Ryan was sitting on one of the benches across from them, staring at them. “What’s up?” Jon asked, shifting sleepily. Spencer mumbled a protest and clutched his fingers in Jon’s shirt. Jon smiled down at him, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Spencer’s ear. 

When he looked up again, Ryan was smiling sweetly. “I was feeling inspired,” he said, tapping pen to paper. Jon could see the page packed with words, but he couldn’t read them so far away. 

“Show me?” Jon asked. 

“Maybe,” Ryan said, closing the notebook. “Maybe later, when you show me your pictures.” He set aside the book and dropped to the deck on his knees, crawling over to them. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he whispered to Spencer, and maybe it was supposed to be teasing, but it sounded remarkably sincere. Ryan pressed his lips lightly against Spencer’s, cheek brushing Jon’s chest. Spencer hummed softly and Ryan deepened the kiss, and Jon had never seen this before. 

Their kisses in front of him usually lasted a few seconds at best, closed lips to closed lips. But now Spencer parted his mouth under Ryan’s, and so close up to them, Jon could see their tongues meet, could hear the soft, wet sounds. 

Jon had to move. He was going to embarrass them all if he didn’t. They were jostled apart when he sat up and Spencer made a noise of disapproval, reaching out for Ryan. “I’m hungry,” Ryan said, pouting. 

“Fine, fine,” Spencer sighed, and when he rolled out of the hammock, Jon had to suppress the urge to sigh in relief. 

After lunch Ryan put his clothes back on, _thank god_ , and they headed back to the docks. Jon got some more shots, better than before with the different angle of the sun. He lagged behind them on the walk back to the car, looking at a few of the recent shots on his camera, and when he looked up they were walking close, arms around each other, hips touching every time they stepped. He realised he didn’t have any shots of the two of them together and adjusted the aperture, bringing them into focus. 

“Hurry up,” Ryan called, “we’ll be late for the movie!” 

“Movie?” Jon asked Spencer warily, when he drew closer to them. 

“Don’t worry. I vetoed his choice. I got him to agree to _Hot Fuzz_ because it’s at the dollar theatre. He doesn’t mind watching something he’s not sure about if it doesn’t cost very much. And he liked _Shaun of the Dead_ ,” Spencer said. He shrugged his shoulders. “He has some weird thing about zombies.” 

“He can hear everything you’re saying,” Ryan said blandly. “And you like zombies, too.” 

“Zombies rule,” Jon agreed. “Especially when they’re not Spanish.” Spencer chuckled and they both dodged Ryan’s half-hearted kicks. 

Sometimes Jon took pictures around the house. He liked the way they looked best when they were casual and comfortable. He liked it when Spencer threw his hand in front of the camera but couldn’t hide the smile creeping across his face, or when Ryan hid under a pillow, fingers and eyes peeking out from behind. 

He liked taking pictures in the early morning, smoke tracing hazy trails from Ryan’s cigarette on the back porch, Spencer at the stove, lip bit in concentration. They were both adorable with the dogs, especially Ryan who liked to dress them up and show them off. 

But his favourite shots were the ones of the two of them together—napping together on the couch when Jon got home from work, Hobo and Boba tucked against them; Spencer’s back to Ryan’s chest playing video games while Ryan read, one arm tight and possessive over Spencer’s collar. 

Maybe it was just that they’d become more comfortable with Jon, knowing him better, but Ryan’s smiles came brighter and more frequently and Spencer’s shoulders lost their perpetual strain. And for two people so private, they didn’t seem to have much reservation about what Jon took pictures of. 

Though Ryan had professed his dislike of being photographed, and seemed so uncomfortable during their first photo shoot, he’d definitely gotten past that. He still didn’t really _pose_ , but would tilt his head just so to show off his neck, or twist his spine. Spencer knew he had amazing hips and he knew how to work them, and he didn’t often smile for the camera, but when he did, it was dazzling. 

Jon wasn’t really working any fewer hours at the studio, but it felt like it. Most Wednesdays he went out with Stephanie and her friends on campus. He’d invited Spencer and Ryan, but they were hesitant about it so he didn’t press the issue. Tuesdays were still game night, and way more comfortable than the first since Jon had dealt with his stupid issues. 

Most nights, though, it was just the three of them, and Jon, for all that he’d been a social creature in Chicago, found he didn’t mind. They could go out on the town or stay in with a movie, or just play games and read all night and he felt at ease, even without booze or weed. 

After a few days, Jon started moving his things from his car into the house, and when he brought in his bass, he was immediately dragged up to the study for an impromptu jam session that turned into an all-nighter, just going through Ryan’s old poetry and messing around with new arrangements. After that it became a regular thing, when Ryan wasn’t busy writing, for them to play around in the backyard. 

Jon hadn’t doubted Ryan, when he’d said that he’d played guitar and Spencer played drums, but seeing and hearing it was something else. It wasn’t just that they’d dabbled with it, learned a few songs or something. Spencer fucking rocked on the drums and looked amazing doing it, hair flying, muscles in his arms flexing, moving his whole body in time to the beat. And Ryan sounded great whether playing a cover or just improvising something from scratch, long fingers sure and nimble on the strings. When he sang along, his voice wasn’t the strongest, but it was sweet and unique, quirky just like he was. 

It occurred to Jon that no one had ever known Jon like these boys did. He hadn’t realised it when Ryan had said it, what seemed like so long ago, that no one ever really wanted to know each other, but it was true. Even in his own life, his relationships with his friends, with Cassie, and even Tom—he’d loved them, and known them, but they’d never made a whole lot of effort to dig deeper and know him, and Jon had never thought much of it. Maybe he hadn’t thought there was a deeper for him. Maybe he’d seen himself as this calm, uncomplicated person because that was what other people had seen him as. 

That wasn’t how Spencer and Ryan treated him. They didn’t use him as a sounding board, or a problem solver. They talked about themselves, certainly, but they asked their own questions of Jon in return, and not just to be polite, but out of genuine curiosity. They asked him questions no one ever had before, about his opinion on things. They were things Jon had never realised he had opinions on, until Spencer or Ryan asked. 

Two weeks after Jon moved in, he came home from work and was met at the door by Ryan and Spencer, grinning like Christmas had come early. Spencer shifted his arms, and tucked against his chest was a tiny ball of grey and white fluff. It mewled softly and turned its face to Jon, two bright green eyes fixing on him. 

“Welcome home,” Ryan said, practically bubbling over with excitement. Spencer passed the kitten off to Jon. 

“Guys,” Jon said, scratching the kitten between its ears. “ _Guys_.” His smile was so big it made his face ache. 

“It’s a boy, they said at the pet store,” Spencer said, reach out to rub its spine. Jon had forgotten what it felt like to have something so small and delicate in his arms, to feel it purring. 

“What should we call him?” Ryan asked, bouncing on his toes. If buying pets made Ryan this happy, maybe they should start a menagerie. 

“I have to think about it,” Jon said solemnly. “Names are important.” 

He ended up settling on _Dylan_ , and Ryan and Spencer expressed their approval by going out and buying an etched tag on a sparkly pink collar the next day. 

“You’re making my cat gay,” Jon said, cuddling next to them on the sofa, Dylan purring contentedly in his lap. 

“Our cat,” Spencer corrected, smiling sunnily at him. He threw his arm over Jon’s shoulder. “And he’s just taking after his daddies.” 

“That’s right,” Ryan said, all sincerity. “We’re his _daddies_ , Jon. You know what that means, right? Means you’re stuck with us now, Walker. We have to raise our baby together.” 

The thing was, Jon didn’t even feel uncomfortable anymore, not at all. It was difficult being around them, knowing he couldn’t have them how he wanted, but it was worth it. He didn’t _want_ to leave. “Oh damn,” he murmured, and smiled when Ryan laced their fingers together. 

The weekend before the Forth of July, Jon managed to get some time free. Jake was happy to take any extra jobs because his daughter was going to a private school in the fall. He took Jon’s wedding on Saturday afternoon and his two Friday afternoon family portraits. Stephanie was a big fan of babies, so she jumped at the chance to do the studio work for the new parents Friday evening. 

Jon had two senior photo shoots on Saturday, one in the morning and one in the evening, which were a little more difficult, but Stephanie had some friends in her class who were looking for some practical experience, and Jon was all about giving people a shot. Thursday being Rose’s usual day off, she volunteered to take his evening shoots off his hand so they could get an earlier start. 

It didn’t cause him any real anxiety, taking the time off, as it might have a month ago. But he was making enough these days to take care of all his expenses, now that he didn’t have to worry about finding a place to live. He planned on paying Ryan and Spencer rent, but every time he mentioned it, Ryan scoffed. 

Spencer took charge of making the plans, saying that if he left it up to Ryan they’d end up sleeping in a tent in Mexico, or something. The way he said it, Jon got the impression that the two of them had had some interesting road trips over the course of their friendship. 

Thursday after his afternoon shoot, they picked him up at the studio, car already loaded up. Spencer’s family was taking care of the pets while they were gone, because no amount of pouting on Ryan’s part would move Spencer to letting the animals come along. 

They took turns hooking their iPods to the car radio and Jon let Ryan paint his toenails a rainbow of colours. “Why do you even have nail polish?” Jon asked. He’d never seen Ryan or Spencer wearing any. 

“The girls left it at our place a while ago. They wanted to practice their makeup skills on us,” Ryan said. “Spencer looked so pretty in lipstick.” 

“Blow me,” Spencer said. 

“Later,” Ryan said, tracing a hand down Spencer’s arm, and Jon felt a shiver down his spine like he was the one being touched. 

They stopped an hour outside of the park for dinner at some greasy spoon. Jon was reminded of being on the road with The Academy. He found he preferred this, knowing there were no deadlines, no one expecting anything of them, that they could take their time. 

Spencer and Jon played tic-tac-toe on the back of their placemats while Ryan composed a sonnet about condiments. They each ordered a different type of pie from the list of forty that the restaurant boasted, and fed each other bites off their forks. 

It was past nine by the time they got to the cabin Spencer had rented. The place was small, kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom and loft. The view was amazing in the back, though, and there was a hot tub on the wrap around porch. 

They settled into their rooms, the loft set up as an extra bedroom. Ryan poked his head up after a few minutes, changed into his swimming trunks. “There was a welcome basket in the kitchen,” he said. “Nuts, fruit, wine…we were gonna go out and test out the hot tub…”

Jon changed into his own trunks and when he went out back, Spencer and Ryan were already in the water, wine glasses in hand. There was another waiting for Jon on the rim of the tub. 

“You two didn’t have to do all of this,” Jon said. He was still a little uncomfortable with the fact that Spencer was refusing to say how much the trip had cost and wouldn’t take any money Jon tried to offer. 

“We know how to treat a lady,” Ryan teased, and someone’s toe nudged Jon’s ankle underwater. 

Jon pulled his leg away. “I’m not _that_ kind of lady,” he chastised. 

“How many dates does it _take_?” Ryan asked. Spencer made a show of ticking of his fingers and held up eight. “It’s been more than _eight_ ,” Ryan scoffed. “Besides, you’re living with us now. I think that means you _have_ to be that kind of lady.” 

Jon shrugged and took a sip of his wine. “You are a tease, Jon Walker,” Spencer said. 

The way they talked made Jon’s stomach flutter. Maybe it hurt to know that nothing would ever come of it, but Jon had decided that maybe it was sweeter this way, unresolved. “I love you two,” he said sincerely, not trying to hide it. 

Ryan and Spencer separated from one another, sliding smoothly across the water to sit on either side of Jon. “We love you, too,” Ryan said, and pressed a kiss to the underside of Jon’s jaw. 

“We do,” Spencer agreed, his kiss falling on Jon’s cheek, too close to his mouth. 

Jon wanted to stay where he was, but his chest ached too much, knowing that the two of them meant something so different from what Jon meant. “The water’s making me sleepy,” he said. “I should get some rest for tomorrow.” 

Spencer’s smile slipped a little and Ryan frowned. “I—well, goodnight,” Ryan said, bemused. 

“Night,” Jon said, and kissed both their hair as he left. 

At the condo, Jon had never heard them before. Maybe the walls were thicker there, or they were just quieter, but he’d never heard the sounds—Ryan’s soft whimpers, Spencer’s low pitched moans, the bed squeaking from their efforts. Jon couldn’t figure out which of them was the top in the relationship, or if they switched. He tried not to imagine it, but he could see their skin when he closed his eyes, sweat slick. 

His hand was down his pants without thinking about, fisting around his cock, trying to keep pace with the sounds drifting up from below. He thumbed the head, spreading the slickness around, imagining it was Spencer’s strong grip. He spread his legs, reaching awkwardly between them with his other hand. He’d never tried it before, but the touch of his finger against his hole, pretending it was Ryan’s, was enough to make him come hard. In the haze, he imagined he heard his name, moaned in Ryan’s voice. 

*

So, unsurprisingly, the Grand Canyon was fucking awesome. They spent a while at the top, letting Jon get lots of shots of the scenery and letting him pose them for some. “What about you?” Spencer challenged, and while he was okay trusting his camera to them, taking turns, it took some prying on Ryan’s part to get Jon to pass it off to a stranger so they could all be in one shot together. 

The hike down was long, but Spencer, ever prepared, had brought a backpack of bottled water and snacks. Ryan entertained them, if one could call it that, with all sorts of macabre stories about the various deaths that had occurred in the canyon, some due to falls, others to plane wrecks, and others still from drowning in the river or dehydration on the trails. After that Jon kept a bit closer to the canyon wall. 

Spencer had booked a river tour and they’d all dressed in their swimming trunks and t-shirts. The tour was lazy and amazing, taking up the better part of the morning and early afternoon. There were stops all along to the way to look at caves and interesting natural rock formations, and wall art of the Native Americans. 

They were the only ones on their boat, and Spencer had slipped their guide a little extra to take the tour slowly, giving Jon all the time he liked to take whatever pictures he wanted. The guy put them up on a sandy shore and left them alone to have their lunch. Jon laid his head in Spencer’s lap and Ryan drew idly on Jon’s ankle with his ballpoint. He was warm and drowsy and felt heavy all over. Every stroke of Ryan’s hand on his leg, every touch of Spencer’s touch against his hair made Jon feel dizzy and high. They were so much better than weed. 

By the time they came to the mouth of the river, the sun was dipping low on the horizon. Ryan insisted on looking through the booths lined on the river bank, Native Americans selling handmade goods. He bought at least a dozen scarves and a handful of brightly coloured beaded bracelets. 

“What’s with all the scarves?” Jon asked, fingering a particularly vibrant one coloured in turquoise and red. 

Ryan shrugged. “I’m thinking of changing my look,” he said, slipping one of the bracelets over Jon’s wrist. The stones were polished wood and tiger’s eye and they reminded Jon of Ryan’s eyes. In the right light, Ryan’s eyes looked golden. 

“Thanks,” he said, admiring the way the sun caught the stones, making them shine. 

“Tiger’s eye lets you see the things you might otherwise fail to notice,” Ryan said, and bent a little to press a kiss to Jon’s cheek. Jon's cheeks were sunburnt anyway. Ryan couldn't have noticed the blush. 

They caught a bus back to where they’d parked their car and the sun was painting the sky rich purple and pink against the brown-red of the rocks in the distance. Spencer and Ryan waited while he took some more shots and when he finished, they were standing together, heads bent close. Spencer’s hand was light on Ryan’s shoulder, Ryan’s hand possessive on Spencer’s hip. 

They saw him looking and Spencer whispered something that made Ryan’s eyes dip low. Spencer kissed him, slow and liquid, and sun casting them in shadow, golden orange around the edges. Jon knew he shouldn’t, that it was private, but he took the picture anyway. 

Spencer ordered a pizza and Jon found _The Breakfast Club_ just starting on the T.V., so they settled down for an early evening. The couch was lumpier than the one at home, and smaller, and they were more squished than normal. It wouldn’t have been so much of a problem except that at the most inopportune moments, flashes of the sounds he’d heard last night came back to him. 

Ryan brushed a hand down Jon’s arm. “You okay?” he asked. He looked up at Jon from where his cheek rested on Jon’s shoulder. Spencer lifted his head from Ryan’s hip to look, too. 

“Just tired,” Jon said, getting ready to excuse him. 

Spencer bit his lip and he and Ryan shared one of their weird silent conversation looks. “Hey. Can we see the pictures from today?” 

Jon got out his laptop and slipped the card into the drive. It was probably a good idea to clear off some of the junk anyway, so he could use the same card tomorrow. “You should put these up in your studio,” Spencer said, after they’d gone through the first couple dozen. 

They were good, but everyone took shots of the Grand Canyon. Maybe tomorrow he could get something unique. “Stop being stupid,” Spencer drawled, like he’d read Jon’s mind. 

There were more pictures of Spencer and Ryan, together and separately, than Jon remembered taking. He almost wanted to stop before they could see more, but they’d want to know why. As the sun got lower in the pictures, Jon knew what was coming. And then there it was, the two of them kissing. Though it was difficult to make out any details in the shadow, it was intimate—too much so for it to be okay that Jon had watched it, let alone taken a picture. 

“I like the way you make us look,” Spencer said, fingers creeping softly up Jon’s neck, sinking in his hair. 

Jon smiled uneasily. “You’re both photogenic,” he said. His throat was dry. 

“You should take some pictures of the cabin,” Spencer suggested. “So I can show my family.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Jon said. “But I’m—” 

“You should come see the master bedroom,” Ryan interrupted. “There’s this window. Come on.” He grabbed Jon’s wrist and Spencer grabbed Jon’s camera and they led him into the bedroom. 

It was fairly small and cosy, most of the room taken up by the giant bed. It was really nice, though, decorated to look like a fairy grove. White twinkle lights cast dim, golden light over the room. The rug was green and soft underfoot, and the giant bay window opened to a view of the forest. 

Ryan settled on the cushioned seat, spreading his legs wide, and Spencer sat between them, leaning back against Ryan’s chest. “Take a picture,” Ryan said. His hand fell high on Spencer’s leg, pinkie finger close to Spencer’s zipper. 

“I—” Jon didn’t even know what to say. 

“Take a picture,” Ryan repeated. Jon did as he was told. 

After a couple shots, they relaxed, looking less posed. Spencer’s head rested more naturally against Ryan’s shoulder, he stopped holding his body tensely away from Ryan’s. Ryan brought a hand to Spencer’s hair, pulling it back from his face. Jon moved to get a better angle and Spencer tipped his head back, turned his face into Ryan’s. 

Ryan’s lips brushed Spencer’s temple, cheekbone, the side of his nose. Spencer sighed and arched up, and they were kissing. Jon made sure to catch the twist of Spencer’s body into Ryan’s, the curl of his fingers against Ryan’s arm, the slant of their mouths together. 

Spencer got up, moving without breaking the kiss somehow, turning so they were face to face. He got his knees on the cushion on either side of Ryan’s hips, straddling him. Ryan’s hands smoothed down Spencer’s back and caught the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough for Jon to see the smooth, pale skin of Spencer’s lower back. Skin Spencer usually guarded so jealously. 

Then Ryan's fingers dipped below the waistband of Spencer's ridiculously tight jeans, rubbing small circles at the small of his back. Spencer made a soft, whimpering sound and broke the kiss, head falling back. His hips rolled in tiny, uncontrolled thrusts in response to the touch. 

Jon lowered his camera, averted his eyes. "I'll just..." he said, and cleared his throat. He had to stop. He should have stopped dozens of pictures ago. 

"Don't stop," Spencer gasped. Jon's eyes flew up to find Spencer's gaze, dark and heavy, locked with his own. Even though Ryan's head was buried in the crook of Spencer's neck, his tongue tracing intricate patterns at the hollow of Spencer's throat, Jon knew the words were for him and not for Ryan. 

He raised his camera again. 

“What looks good?” Spencer asked, breath coming fast. “You always make us look good.” 

Jon shook his head blankly, taking several quick shots to capture the way Spencer’s mouth dropped open when Ryan’s nose nuzzled at his ear. “What you’re doing,” he whispered at last. 

“Yeah,” Ryan murmured. “But don’t you want…” he toyed with the hem of Spencer’s shirt again and met Jon’s eyes over Spencer’s shoulder. 

And this, he supposed, was the point of no return. Could he do this, watch them together, and ever let things be the same? He knew Tom had filmed shit like this for friends before, but Jon was so much closer to Ryan and Spencer than any of them had been to Tom. He wasn’t sure he could do this and not let it get weird, not when he wanted them so much. 

“Take off his shirt,” Jon whispered, and he hadn’t even given himself permission to say it. 

Ryan’s eyes flared and he pushed Spencer back until they were both standing. Spencer stretched his arms high over head, letting Ryan draw his shirt off and toss it aside. Spencer’s skin was flawless and looked so soft. Jon wanted to be allowed to touch. 

They stood still, and it took Jon a second to realise they were waiting for him to say something. “Kiss along his shoulder,” he said. “Down his spine.” Ryan obeyed, bending his head, lips brushing along the skin so, so lightly. He swept Spencer’s hair aside and parted his mouth over the top of Spencer’s spine. He kissed all the way down, dropping fluidly to his knees as he went. His hands came up to frame Spencer’s hips, tongue darting out to taste the dip where back met ass. 

“Spencer, turn around,” Jon said. He barely recognised his own voice. Spencer did as he was told, cupping Ryan’s face in his hand. Ryan turned his cheek to kiss Spencer’s palm, and Jon knew these pictures would be the only thing he’d ever be able to think of again when he jerked off. 

“What do you want, Jon?” Ryan asked, still looking up at Spencer. He bit Spencer’s thumb gently. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jon breathed harshly. “Ryan…” The room was spinning around him. “Undo his jeans. Take him out.” His chest was too tight and hot, his arms tingling. He probably took a couple dozen shots of Ryan’s long fingers working the buttons through their holes and drawing the zipper down. 

Ryan eased Spencer’s cock out of his boxers and Jon couldn’t breathe for a second. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Spencer was just fucking _gorgeous_ , cock hard and red and leaking in Ryan’s palm, chest heaving, eyes glazed. His mouth was swollen and dark, lip caught between his teeth. 

“What now?” Ryan asked. He sat back on his heels, stroking Spencer lazily. It had to be a tease. His grip was too loose. He licked his lips and Jon groaned. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Ryan sucking his cock, or Spencer’s. 

Jon shot the drop of precome gathered at the head of Spencer’s dick, ready to drop. “Lick the head,” he said. 

Ryan flicked his gaze towards Jon and kept their eyes locked as he leaned in, tonguing the head of Spencer’s cock. Spencer made a soft hitching sound and his fingers flexed at his side. “Grab his hair, Spence,” Jon said. 

Spencer’s hands shot out, fingers tight in Ryan’s hair. “Suck him, Ryan.” 

Ryan sucked the tip between his lips, cheeks hollowing out. He didn’t let Spencer get any sort of rhythm, though, wouldn’t take him deep. Spencer’s tension was clear in every line of his body, muscles drawn tight. 

“Take him deeper,” Jon said. Ryan did, but loosened his lips, and Spencer’s groan was more out of frustration than pleasure. “Ryan,” Jon said, terse. “Do it right.” 

Ryan sat back on his heels again with one last, loud suck. “If I’m not doing it how you want, maybe you should come do it yourself,” he said, tone rebellious. He licked his lips, eyes challenging Jon. 

Jon got on his knees and shoved the camera at Ryan. Spencer said, “Yes, Jon, please,” and that was all Jon needed to hear. He pushed down Spencer’s jeans and boxers all at once, halfway down his legs, so he could get to bare skin. His hands cupped Spencer’s ass, dragging him closer and he leaned forward, burying his face in Spencer’s hip. 

Spencer’s fingers fell soft in his hair and Jon dragged his nose along Spencer’s pelvis, breathing him in. He looked up at Spencer and Spencer traced a finger down Jon’s cheek, over his jaw. 

“Please, Jon,” Spencer whispered. Jon kissed his way up Spencer’s cock, flattened his tongue against the head. Spencer’s hips bucked forward and Jon stopped teasing. He’d never given head before, but he’d been on the receiving end. He had a good idea of what felt nice. He took as much as he could with his mouth and got his hand around the rest. 

Ryan pressed against Jon’s side, hands sliding under Jon’s shirt, smoothing over his chest. “Don’t let him come,” he whispered. “Not yet. He wants you to be inside him when that happens. _God_ , Jon.” He kissed Jon’s neck, scraped his nails over Jon’s nipple. 

Jon pulled back. “Will you fuck him, Jon?” Ryan asked. 

“I…I don’t—”

“Can I kiss you?” Ryan asked. Jon opened his mouth to respond, but ended up just nodding his head. Ryan sighed into Jon’s mouth, kiss rough and desperate. Jon barely got a taste before Spencer’s hands were on his cheek, turning Jon into his kiss. Spencer’s mouth was hot and his kiss was sweet. 

“Jon,” Spencer whispered against his mouth, “please, we want you.” 

There were hands all over him, pulling at his clothes. They got his shirt off and Spencer’s palms were soft and hot against Jon’s chest, smoothing around his back, pulling him into another kiss. Ryan nibbled at Jon’s earlobe, slicked his tongue along the shell. “I know you think this will mess us up, I know, because I was worried, too. But I saw the pictures you took of us, Jon.” 

Jon tore his mouth away from Spencer’s and looked at them both in turn. “I can’t go back after this,” he said. 

Ryan shook his head. He brought his hands up to frame Jon’s face, stroking his cheek. “No. Jon. You’re stuck with us, remember?” 

Spencer got to his feet again, kicking off his pants and underwear, and sat on the bed. He reached out a hand to Jon, fingers wide. Jon and Ryan stood together. “Give me the camera,” Spencer said. “And then undress each other.” He looked very proud of himself. 

Ryan passed over the camera and bent over Jon for a kiss, hands going to Jon’s pants. Jon made quick work of the buttons down Ryan’s shirt and slid it over his shoulders. He’d seen the skin before, but hadn’t been allowed to touch. Now he took his fill, kissing down Ryan’s throat, over his collarbone. 

As soon as Ryan got Jon’s pants undone, he shimmied out of them. Ryan’s were easier—Jon just pulled the drawstring and the pants pooled at Ryan’s ankles. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Jon let his hand close around Ryan’s erection, long and impossibly hot against Jon’s palm. 

Ryan returned the favour, grip firm and sure, practiced. “Hey,” Spencer protested. 

“Go fuck him,” Ryan whispered. “And then I’m going to fuck you.” 

Jon climbed onto the bed, enjoying the image of Spencer’s spread out before him. Spencer never showed bare skin, but Jon couldn’t understand why. Spencer’s figure was all soft curves; he wasn’t as skinny as Ryan, but he was narrower than Jon. His skin was flawless in the soft light. Brown gold hair fell in Spencer’s eyes, making him look exotic and untouchable. But Jon was _allowed_ to touch, at last. He traced a hand up Spencer’s thigh and Spencer spread his legs wide for Jon to fit between. 

Ryan passed Jon a condom and a bottle of lube. Jon kissed Spencer’s ankle, up his shin, the inside of his knee. He popped the cap and met Spencer’s gaze as he slicked his fingers. “Are you sure?” Jon asked. 

“Jon,” Spencer said, voice slightly strained. “We’ve wanted this pretty much since we first met you. We bought those condoms a month ago. And we don’t use condoms.” 

“You won’t, either, if you want. When we get home,” Ryan offered. He worked the condom down Jon’s length, pumping a few times. It was enough to make Jon chase the sensation, desperate for more. 

Jon had never gone bareback, even after Cassie went on the pill, but there was something really hot, thinking of being with them, nothing in between. He had to take a deep breath imagining pushing into Spencer, the way still slick with Ryan’s release. 

Hearing Ryan speak of the future, of doing this at home, made something loosen in Jon’s chest. He bent to lay a kiss on the soft skin of Spencer’s inner thigh. Spencer’s breath went high and Jon swallowed him down. Spencer’s taste was strong and salty on his tongue and Jon felt the exact second Spencer relaxed enough to take him in. 

Jon eased two fingers inside slowly, taking everything in—the tightness around him, Spencer’s hips working down restlessly, Spencer’s breath coming in soft, helpless moans. He probed gently; he knew how it worked. He spread his fingers and crooked them until Spencer’s hips bucked and he gasped _Jon_. 

“He doesn’t need a lot,” Ryan whispered. “I fucked him twice last night, and once this morning. Usually he ends up fucking me, but he wanted you so badly.” 

Jon’s hips moved all on their own, responding to Ryan’s words. His cock thrust against Spencer’s thigh and Spencer moaned. “Seriously, Jon,” Spencer panted. “I’ve been waiting long enough.” 

Spencer grabbed Jon’s dick and Jon let himself be led. He slipped his fingers free just in time to replace them with his cock. There was a moment of resistance, Spencer unbelievably tight against him, and then Jon was sliding in, hot and slick. And. There weren’t _words_. 

Spencer’s fingers scrabbled over Jon’s back, sliding through sweat down, down, settling over the curve of Jon’s ass. Jon bottomed out, flush against Spencer’s skin. He rested there, panting into Spencer’s neck. Slowly, he worked his hips in a tight circle and Spencer’s head fell back, mouth parting on a whimper. Jon had to hold still, afraid he’d come at the slightest sensation. 

They paused, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked. He’d never thought they’d be this close to one another, with all the promise of the future behind Spencer’s touch. He wanted to drink every moment, preserve it forever should Ryan or Spencer change their minds. Spencer’s eyes were wide and bluer than the sky, saying more than words ever could, promising. 

Jon was aware of Ryan alongside them, watching. His hand fell against Jon’s back, a welcome reminder of his presence. Spencer’s gaze met Jon’s and they breathed each other in, mouths touching but not quite kissing. Spencer reached out, fingertips light on Jon’s cheek, tucking his hair back from his face. They kissed, Ryan’s hands on them both. 

“ _Fuck me_ , Jon,” Spencer whined into Jon’s mouth. 

It was easy to fall into a rhythm. Spencer was so open to it; tight, but welcoming. He twined himself around Jon, breath hot and desperate against Jon’s skin. His ankles locked around Jon’s waist, hands grasping fast at Jon’s shoulders. He worked to meet Jon’s every thrust, whispering pleas into the skin of Jon’s neck, things Jon barely understood, but couldn’t help but obey. 

Ryan was alongside them throughout it all, hands tracing Spencer’s chest, tongue painting the skin of Jon’s neck. Their sighs were loud, surrounding Jon. “I love you,” Jon whispered, and hoped they didn’t hear over everything else. Spencer stilled beneath Jon, traced a hand down his cheek. Ryan claimed Jon’s mouth with his own, possessive and sure. 

Jon’s lack of stamina might have been embarrassing, except Spencer was right there with him, leaking against Jon’s stomach, murmuring his encouragement. Jon fisted his hand around Spencer’s cock, pumping fast in time with his thrusts and Spencer came first, hot and sticky between them, Jon’s name on his lips. 

It was better than anything Jon had imagined, sweeter and stronger. He hid his face in Spencer’s neck, sucking on the soft skin there. A blossom of red and purple spread beneath Jon’s mouth. He traced the lines of broken blood vessels with his tongue, hips working hard against Spencer’s. 

He’d been waiting for this too long, wondered what it would be like. The reality of it far surpassed his imaginings. He followed fast on Spencer’s heels, hips stuttering then stilling at last, buried deep in Spencer’s ass. He barely had a second to enjoy the afterglow before Ryan’s hands were on him, pulling him away from Spencer. 

“My turn,” Ryan whispered. 

Jon was still loose from his orgasm when Ryan began to touch him. Ryan’s fingers, long and thin, had long been a part of Jon’s fantasies. They were magic on Jon’s skin, leaving bright, tingling lines of sensation in their wake, chasing the pleasure of his orgasm. Jon knew it wouldn’t take him long to get it up again with this sort of provocation. 

Ryan dipped his head between Jon’s thighs and mouthed around his balls. Jon’s head fell against the pillow in abandon. Spencer fell against Jon’s side, lazy and sated, mouthing against Jon’s shoulder. It was a nice counter to Ryan’s tongue, hot and sure, as he lapped against Jon’s hole. 

“Fuck,” Jon hissed and Spencer chuckled low against his pulse. 

“Just wait,” Spencer threatened, or promised, Jon didn’t know the difference any more. He didn’t care. He was getting hard again already and that had _never_ happened so quickly, even when he was a teenager and desperate for sex, no matter how it came. 

Ryan’s tongue pushed inside and Jon’s whole body went tense, like a string drawn too tight. Spencer caught Jon’s mouth in a hot kiss and said, “Promise it’s us,” and Jon said, “you’re all I want.” Spencer’s hand curved around Jon’s cock in response, tugging in time with the gentle, fluid thrusts of Ryan’s tongue inside Jon’s body. 

Jon barely felt recognised the switch between Ryan’s mouth and fingers at first, smooth as it was. Ryan’s hand left Jon’s balls, drifting lower, teasing the sensitive skin behind and lower, lower, tracing the place where his tongue disappeared into Jon’s body. There was a moment when it was both tongue and finger inside of Jon, and then Ryan thrust a finger in rough, twisting, and Jon saw stars. He was hard again immediately. 

Ryan was careful, for all that it was obvious that he was desperate. He added one finger at a time, as Jon adjusted. His fingers parted, tongue chasing between them, sending hot sparks up Jon’s spine. Spencer’s hips worked against Jon’s side, cock filling and going hard between them. Jon reached for him blindly, fist tight around Spencer. 

“I want to come in your mouth, now,” Spencer whispered against Jon’s cheek and Jon nodded and said, “ _Fuck yes_.” 

Spencer swung a leg over Jon’s chest and scooted up. His finger tapped against Jon’s jaw and Jon dropped his mouth open just enough to let Spencer slide his cock in. Ryan groaned behind them and there was the sound of the camera shutter. “When we get home, we’re buying a tripod,” Ryan muttered, and then his cock was pressing where his mouth and fingers had been. 

Jon let himself be lost in the sensation. Ryan’s cock was a slow burn in his ass, Spencer’s a heavy, numbing weight in his mouth. Jon focussed on Spencer, breathing in his scent, swallowing more and more. Spencer kept a hand around the base of his cock but pushed further and further down Jon’s throat and Jon took it. It helped take away from the sting of Ryan’s thrusts. 

Then Ryan grabbed Jon’s hips, tugging them up. Jon went with him, hooking his knees over Ryan’s razor sharp pelvic bones and the angle was all the sudden _perfect_. Jon groaned, mouth dropping opening. Spencer didn’t seem to mind, lazily pushing against the roof of Jon’s mouth. 

Jon dug his fingers into Spencer’s thighs and used them as an anchor, shoving down on Ryan’s cock. He wanted to keep thrusting, desperate even though he’d just gotten off, but Ryan’s hand fell hard as steel on Jon’s hips, holding him still. He fucked Jon slow and hard, each thrust jarring. Jon sucked sloppily at Spencer’s cock, every moan spurring Spencer on harder, faster. 

He knew the moment Ryan came, hearing his breath go shallow and stop altogether for a second, hips meeting Jon’s ass for one last, punishing thrust and then stilling. Jon groaned again, half pleasure, half disappointment. Spencer’s thumb pushed against his lower lip, fingers brushing over Jon’s cheek, pressing where his cock moved in Jon’s mouth. 

Ryan pulled out and Jon felt open, gaping and empty. There was the wet sound of a condom hitting the wall, then Ryan’s mouth was around Jon’s dick, sucking him all the way down. He shoved three fingers up Jon’s ass, twisting and Jon came hard, harder than he’d ever come, he was sure. He couldn’t breathe, just swallow compulsively around the head of Spencer’s cock. Spencer grunted and spilled down Jon’s throat, hips working in tiny circles. 

Spencer climbed off delicately but Jon barely had time to rearrange his head on the pillow before Spencer was settled against his side, holding him in place. Ryan bent his head to Jon’s stomach, licking through a trail of come painting Jon’s stomach from Spencer’s earlier orgasm. 

“Get up here,” Spencer ordered, tossing a stray tee-shirt at Ryan’s head. Ryan wiped away the rest of the mess and flopped down on Jon’s free side. Jon got an arm around both their shoulders, and could almost convince himself it was just like when the cuddled on the sofa. Only with far less clothes. 

Ryan traced figures like words over Jon’s chest and Spencer tilted his head up for a kiss that Jon was only too happy to give. There was so much to learn about Spencer’s mouth, and Ryan’s. Spencer’s was smaller but softer, and his teeth were sharper, but he used them less than Ryan did. Though he knew it was just his imagination, Jon could taste Spencer’s smile, bright as sunshine, and twice as warm. 

“Can’t let us go,” Ryan said. His fingernail drew a lock over Jon’s heart. “Already a part of you.” 

Jon woke with a boy on each side, their hands clasped low on Jon’s hips. He felt unease gathering in his stomach. Cassie had been his only relationship to last more than a few awkward one-night stands, and this was so much more than what Jon had had with Cassie. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t loved her, but things had been easy and uncomplicated between them. This was so much more intimate in ways he didn’t even fully understand. 

Any move would stir them, so Jon held as still as possible, muscles aching from the effort. Spencer was the first to stir, fingers clenching around Ryan’s. He blinked a couple times and looked up at Jon with a lazy smile. It slipped when he saw Jon’s face. 

“You’re freaking out,” Spencer said blandly. 

“I’m not,” Jon said automatically. 

“You are,” Spencer said. He shook his hand free of Ryan’s. His thumb traced the line of definition up Jon’s belly, darted to the side to flick at Jon’s nipple, smoothed up his neck to sink into Jon’s hair. He gave a little tug and Jon resisted, but Spencer just pushed up on his elbows until their lips met. 

“We have no trouble kissing you into submission whenever you start to freak out on us,” Ryan whispered, pressing a kiss to Jon’s throat, and Jon hadn’t even realised he was awake, so wrapped up in Spencer. 

“I can’t lose you two,” Jon said. 

Their smiles were sweet in entirely different ways—beautiful in entirely different ways. “You won’t,” Spencer said. 

“We won’t let you,” Ryan added, and kissed Jon until they were panting for breath. When they parted, Spencer darted forward, catching Ryan’s mouth. They were both going hard, erections pressing against Jon’s hips, but they weren’t in any hurry about it. Jon heard a line of Ryan’s poetry played through his head, telling him to relax. He listened, watching the play of their mouths together. 

Their mouths were red and swollen, spit slick, when Spencer drew back. “This isn’t conditional,” Ryan said. “You can take whatever you want.” 

“We’ll give it,” Spencer whispered. “And we aren’t going anywhere.” 

“You promised us that,” Ryan said. “We’re promising the same.” 

Jon rolled Ryan beneath him, spreading Ryan’s thighs with his knees. Ryan only struggled a little, and it was only playfully. Jon fumbled a condom down his dick, slicking it with lube and started to push his fingers against Ryan’s opening, but Ryan shook his head, said, “Just fuck me, Jon,” so Jon did. He took Ryan slow and long, holding Ryan’s hands above his head like he’d imagined, fingers pressed hard in the ink lines. 

Spencer stroked Ryan through it until he was close, and then his hand closed tight around the base of Ryan’s cock, keeping him from coming when Jon buried himself deep and let go. Spencer took Jon’s place, easing into Ryan in one slow, steady thrust. 

Jon ached to photograph them like this, seeing something so private. It dawned on him slowly that it wasn’t private to him any longer. It was his, now, too. There would be plenty of time to photograph them later. 

The shower stall was roughly the size of a telephone booth, so they took turns showering, Ryan laying claim to the first. “He’ll be in there forever,” Spencer remarked. “You should make out with me until he gets out.”

Jon laughed softly, tipping his face back to place a quick kiss on the corner of Spencer’s mouth. “Should I?” he asked. 

“Mmm,” Spencer agreed, taking a longer kiss. Jon liked kissing. He had spent hours before just kissing, not wanting anything else. It wasn’t the same with Spencer. The touch of his mouth made Jon’s spine tingle, his ears burn. He moaned against Spencer’s lips and Spencer sighed, rolling Jon beneath him. 

“Or…” Spencer said and grinded his hips against Jon’s cock. He sat up, arching his back, showing off. Jon pushed the sheets out of the way, taking it all in. He laid a hand on Spencer’s hip, rubbing gently with his thumb and Spencer whispered his name. 

Jon sat up against the headboard, pulling Spencer with him, hand in Spencer’s hair guiding him into a kiss. Spencer scooted back enough to get his hands around both their cocks and Jon helped them, their fingers tangled blindly. Jon found a spot under the head of Spencer’s dick that made him croon desperately in Jon’s mouth. Precome spilled fast over the back of Jon’s hand, down his wrist. 

“I want you inside,” Spencer said. “Jon, I want to fuck everyway we can.” He writhed desperately against Jon’s touch. “I want you to push me up against the wall, bend me over the kitchen table. I want to ride you so hard we both have bruises. I want to be on my hands and knees for you, sucking Ryan off while you fuck me.” 

“Jesus Christ, Spencer,” Jon hissed, and fumbled the condom on, almost coming just from the touch of his own hand. Spencer lifted his hips and sank down on Jon’s length, groaning all through it. They rocked together and Jon barely lasted thirty seconds, pumping Spencer fast. 

“Come on, Spence,” he urged, and Spencer came just before him, head tossed back. Jon bit down hard on Spencer’s neck when he came, tongue tracing the bruises he’d left the night before. 

When Ryan came out from the shower they were lying side by side, trading slow kisses, but Ryan narrowed his eyes at them. “I know what you were doing,” he muttered. Spencer gave him an innocent look which made Ryan roll his eyes. “I _heard_ you. Jesus. Someone gets to suck my cock later for making me jerk off in the shower.” 

Jon couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face then. “I think that can be arranged,” he said, and Ryan smiled back, slightly shy. It was ridiculous, after all they’d done, but so uniquely Ryan that it was charming. 

They packed up their things and Spencer checked out while Jon showered and Ryan loaded the car. Before leaving the area, Spencer took them to a nearby Anasazi village. It was mostly ruins and made for some great shots. All that really changed because of last night was the fact that Jon didn’t feel so awkward when he took pictures of Spencer and Ryan in moments of quiet, understated intimacy. 

The drive through the Painted Desert was maybe not quite as majestic as the Grand Canyon, but was still stunning. Ryan stretched out in the back with Jon, head on his chest, watching the colours blur past. Spencer stopped whenever they asked and Jon filled up an entire card with pictures from that two hour drive. 

It shouldn’t have been surprising to Jon to know find they didn’t behave any differently around him now, except to touch him more. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that attempting to have a threesome would be _easy_ , but maybe it didn’t have to be as difficult as he might have imagined. 

They spent a couple hours exploring the Petrified Forest and got to Flagstaff in the early afternoon, just as it was the hottest out. They went to the Arboretum and spent most of the time in the butterfly gardens because apparently Jon was in love with the two girliest men in the world. He did get some nice shots of Spencer though, whose shampoo seemed to attract the butterflies, if the amount flying around him and lighting on his head was any indication. 

Ryan held Jon’s hand as they walked through downtown Flagstaff, shopping for souvenirs. Spencer’s idea of shopping for souvenirs seemed to consist of him stopping at any shop that sold shoes and trying on dozens of pairs. Ryan, on the other hand, while he seemed earnest about his desire to get something for the twins and Spencer’s parents, kept getting distracted by sparkly things. 

“So, so gay,” Jon sing-songed in his ear. 

“Says one of the men fucking me,” Ryan smiled back. 

Jon rubbed his thumb over Ryan’s hand. “Yeah,” he agreed and darted his eyes about to see if anyone was looking before he kissed Ryan quick and light. This was all new. He’d never had to be cautious in pubic before, but he didn’t want to draw any undue attention, should someone see the way Ryan and Spencer were together, and the way Jon was with each of them. If Ryan’s editor didn’t like his relationship with Spencer, she would flip over Jon’s addition. 

At the hotel, Spencer made them wait outside and managed to sweet talk the girl at the front desk into switching their suite from two double beds to one king sized. There were plans to go to the Lowell Observatory in the evening, but they were all worn out from a day spent in the sun and Ryan decided that a nap was in order. He pulled Spencer and Jon onto the bed with him, and they cuddled up on either side. Jon pressed little kisses against the back of Ryan’s neck and Ryan sighed, tilting his head so Jon could better reach. 

The sun was setting when they woke. Spencer had made them reservations at a brewery downtown where they stayed until well after dark playing billiards. They had a private tour at the Observatory, and Jon decided he never wanted to know how much Spencer had spent on this trip. “You can pay me back in sexual favours,” Spencer remarked, when Jon said something along those lines. 

“First you use me for my ID, now my dick,” Jon sighed. Spencer pressed close to his side and Jon threw his arm over his shoulders, holding him near on one side, clasping Ryan’s hand on the other. Their tour guide very politely refused to notice. She left them alone at the observation tower after showing them how to operate the telescope. 

“It’s crazy what you can do with my money,” Ryan remarked, all awe, no hint that he was the slightest bit put out about it. Spencer confided, once, that Ryan treated Spencer like they were married, everything of Ryan’s Spencer’s and vice versa. It helped that they’d lived that way their entire lives that it didn’t cause any hurt feelings on either side. 

Jon thought it was pretty amazing. He didn’t know how he’d be able to fit into it. He wanted to be with them, even if he couldn’t afford all the luxuries to which they were used, including but not limited to three-day weekend vacations. He just wasn’t sure how he could contribute when they refused to allow him. He’d have to talk to them about it, but this wasn’t the right time. 

“Are you freaking out about something?” Ryan asked. 

“A little,” Jon answered truthfully. “I’ll deal with it.” Of that he was certain. He wasn’t going to fuck this up. He didn’t know why he’d been given this, but he wasn’t going to do something stupid to ruin it. 

Ryan put his arms around Jon’s waist, resting his chin on Jon’s shoulder. “You might freak out a little more when we get home,” he said. 

“Why?” Jon asked. “What did you do?” Spencer switched his attention from the telescope to them. 

“Ordered a new mattress. Queen sized,” Ryan said, mouth brushing Jon’s neck as he spoke. 

“That was presumptuous of you,” Jon said. 

“Hopeful of us,” Ryan corrected. “We could have slept in it just the two of us.” 

“Might have been a little lonely,” Spencer said, pressing along Jon’s front. 

“Couldn’t have that,” Jon said wryly. 

Spencer kissed him and said, “We only have another twenty minutes here, so if you two are finished being gay, wanna come take a look at the pretty shiny things in the sky?” 

“You two and shiny things,” Jon said, shaking his head. 

“Hey!” Spencer said, bumping their hips together. “You _like_ us.” 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, not bothering to correct him. Yet. “I guess I like shiny things, too.” Spencer scowled and Ryan laughed and they all fought over who got to look through the telescope first. 

They went to bed early after. Ryan had a book signing Sunday afternoon that he couldn’t miss, lest Celia hunt him down and harangue him. Or, the way Spencer told it, she’d harangue Spencer and Spencer would withhold sex. “And you will, too, if you know what’s good for you,” Spencer added. 

Jon drove to give Spencer a break, since neither of them really trusted Ryan very much where heavy machinery was concerned. The roads here were straight and fairly empty compared to the clogged traffic of Illinois. They put down the windows, Ryan’s long legs dangling out the back, Spencer’s hair whipping across his face and throat. It was hot, but not uncomfortably so, and the music was loud, and Jon had been on the road plenty of times with lots of people and various distractions, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever been this content. 

Ryan was trying out his new look, a couple fluttery, flowery scarves over a plain white button down and actual boy jeans, which Jon hadn’t known Ryan had _owned_. He was wearing bracelets on both wrists, which wasn’t entirely unusual, but they were brighter and bolder than the plain black and carved wooden ones he sported regularly. 

When they came into the backroom, Celia took one look at him and freaked out, hurrying to try and wrangle his wind-tossed into something resembling order. “What are you wearing?” She demanded. Then she looked at Spencer. “What did you _do_ to him?” 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “If you have a problem with the way I look, we could just call this thing off,” Ryan offered. 

Celia gave a harried sigh. “And who is this?” she asked, looking Jon up and down, unimpressed. 

“Jon Walker,” he said, nodding at her politely. 

“Oh, the photographer who took my seat at the banquet?” she asked, but her tone wasn’t mean, just amused. “Did someone at the office engage you for this afternoon?” 

“He’s not here in any official capacity,” Ryan said, tone dismissive. Jon had known him long enough by now to know that it meant he didn’t feel like discussing a subject any further. “Though we will have to look over his contract sometime soon. Adjust some things.” 

Celia frowned, looking back and forth between them. “Well, of course we can have something drawn up. Is there a problem…?”

Jon waited, wondering. Ryan shrugged. “I simply feel that the old contract is too restrictive. I trust Jon to use his work how he pleases.” Jon couldn’t help but brush a hand down Ryan’s back and Ryan smiled down at him, bright and unguarded. 

“Oookaaay,” Celia said slowly. She looked uncertainly at Spencer, like she feared some bad reaction. 

Spencer just took Jon’s hand. “Come on. We should get out of the way.” 

“Maybe I want Ross to sign my book for me,” Jon leered. 

Ryan waved one of his scarves at him. “Get lost,” he said. Spencer leaned in for a quick kiss like he always did when he and Ryan parted. 

“See you in a bit,” Jon said. 

“Hey,” Ryan said, and pouted. He hooked his finger in Jon’s collar like Jon had seen him do to Spencer so many times before. “You too.” He dipped his head to press their mouths together. Jon breathed in and Ryan pulled away. Celia very pointedly was not looking, checking something on her PDA. Jon maybe felt a little bad for her, but not much. 

There was a crowd amassed in the store, waiting. Spencer found them a place to stand off to the side—still near enough to see, but not pressing close like the others. Ryan came out a few minutes later looking more comfortable than he had at the banquet, but only marginally so. He shot them both a quick hint of a smile and several of the girls turned to try and see who he’d smiled at, but didn’t notice them. 

Ryan went to the podium and cleared his throat, tugged at his scarves. “Um,” he said, and all the girls leaned forward like he’d just said the most amazing thing they’d ever heard in their lives. “I was supposed to read a couple poems that I’m sure you’ve all read before, but I’ve been working on some new stuff lately, and if you don’t mind, I thought I might read you some of that.” 

A flurry of excited babble went through the crowd. Celia, standing just behind Ryan’s shoulder, looked like she was going to have a heart attack. “I don’t have a title for it yet. I’m not sure it’s finished. But I think it describes what I feel right now.” 

Jon looked at Spencer questioningly. Spencer smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “He doesn’t show me everything he writes,” Spencer said. “You see what I see, for the most part. Though I bet he’ll show you a few things now that he didn’t before. I think he was worried of scaring you off…”

“Are you saying he wrote things about me?” Jon asked, smiling in confusion. 

“Are you kidding?” Spencer asked, brows going high. “I swear, it’s been nothing but porn since you moved in with us. Which, okay, I’m not complaining because it’s really fucking hot and has led to more than one impromptu session of mid-afternoon sex on the couch/in the backyard/in your bed…” He smiled then, blushing. Jon couldn’t even pretend to be offended. He was hard as a rock. “You should see some of the stuff he’s written about me…”

“I hope you’re not just teasing,” Jon whispered, slipping a hand down Spencer’s spine. He gripped Spencer’s hip and jerked him closer so Spencer could feel the effect his words were having. 

Spencer gave him a sly look and dropped a hand to Jon’s thigh. Ryan began to recite and Jon jerked his attention back to him. His voice was slightly different from his normal monotone, getting into the rhythm of the lines he read. When he read the line, “Things have changed for me, but that’s okay, I feel the same,” he gave Jon and Spencer a brief glance. 

“Did he just confess his love for me in poetry form?” Jon asked, when Ryan had finished. He meant it to come out teasing, but his heart was beating too fast. 

“Jon.” Spencer sighed and put his hands on his hips. “We’ve been trying to tell you we love you for weeks. We did say it, the other night. You were too busy running away to notice.” 

“Sorry,” Jon said. “I’ve never done this before. I didn’t know…”

“You think we’ve ever done it before?” Spencer asked, gentle smile softening his words. “We never planned on adding anyone else to this relationship. We’re happy with each other; we never would have thought of needing someone else.” 

Jon didn’t know what to say. He was so out of his depth. He wrapped his arm around Spencer’s waist, squeezing. “I love you, too, Spencer Smith,” he finally decided on. 

Spencer gave him one of his blinding smiles, all teeth and bright, crinkled eyes. “God,” he said. “I don’t…” He laughed and pressed his forehead against Jon’s. “I don’t know why I get to have him, and you too, but…” He laughed again and Jon caught his mouth in a quick kiss. No one was paying them any attention, anyway. 

Well, no one except Ryan, who was glaring at them every few seconds in between scrawling his name on the books presented to him. It was a glare that said _first sex while I’m in the shower, now making out while I have to do a fucking book signing_. Maybe Jon could eventually figure out this silent speech thing Ryan and Spencer had going on. “We’ll make it up to him later,” Spencer said, and tugged Jon away. 

They grabbed coffee from the Starbucks in the store and browsed the romance section reading the back blurbs and laughing themselves silly. There was a second when Jon was pretty sure that some random girl snapped a picture of them, but then he often took pictures of strangers, so whatever. 

When they came back the line was about half-finished, though still ridiculously long. It was overwhelmingly teenaged girls, but there were a few adult women and the random, scattered teenaged or college aged boy. 

Currently it was a woman who looked about twenty, gushing about something that was making Ryan turn bright red. He hurried to finish his signature and pushed the book to her forcefully. 

Jon went around the table, sitting the coffee they’d bought for Ryan at his elbow. Ryan blinked at it blankly for a minute before turning a grateful look on Jon. The girl smiled at them and wiggled her fingers suggestively. 

“Well,” Ryan said, in a low voice that Jon could barely hear. “I’ve found an eager candidate, if we ever want a foursome…” and nodded in the girl’s general direction. 

“I think three is enough,” Jon said, squeezing Ryan’s shoulder. A few flashes went off in the crowd. 

“You’re going to be Internet famous now,” Ryan remarked. “All the bloggers are going to say I’ve broken up with Spencer.” 

“Actually…” Jon laughed a little. “If that’s why some chick took a picture of me and Spence earlier, the Internet might come up with some more outlandishly accurate ideas about us…”

“Beautiful thing about the Internet, no one really believes what they read,” Ryan said dismissively. Jon wasn’t so sure about that. Then again he didn’t think it mattered if some kids guessed what was really going on between the three of them. 

*

The new mattress came on Wednesday and Jon was exceedingly grateful. He’d offered to sleep on his mattress until the new one came, but Ryan could be really insistent and blowjobs were a great motivator to do what Ryan wanted. Only trying to cram three people (no matter how skinny two of them were) into a full sized bed could get really uncomfortable. 

Ryan announced on Friday that they were going to host a Fourth of July party on Monday and Jon should invite his friends. Jon was pretty sure Ryan realised that Ryan and Spencer (and slowly, Brent and Tyler and the twins) were his friends. But just in case he invited his employees. At the very least it would make Stephanie’s day. 

Jon gave them all the address and Rose was bubbling over with excitement about finally getting to see his place. “Should we bring anything? I’ll make my potato salad and my famous brownies.” 

Jon texted Spencer, because even if Ryan was the one who’d decided on having the thing, Spencer was the brains behind the operation. Spencer was just planning on grilling burgers and shit (he was taking Ryan to Lowes later to make the purchase of the grill because god knew what Ryan would come home with if he went alone). _if they want 2 bring stuf they can. brnt &girls eat anything_

After that it turned into some ridiculous case of one-upmanship between his employees of who could bring the most delicious dishes. Jake started talking about his wife’s ambrosia and Stephanie babbled about her family’s secret cake recipe. Jake was talking about bringing his wife and daughter, and Rose her boyfriend and Stephanie her girlfriend. 

Jon sort of freaked out but Spencer texted _more = merrier. chillax_

That helped, until Friday night after dinner when they were all piled on the couch watching _V for Vendetta_ (a compromise—intellectual enough for Ryan’s taste, and with enough action sequences for Jon and Spencer) and Jon’s phone buzzed. There was a fumble of limbs on the couch to get Jon’s phone from the end table, probably with more groping than was strictly necessary, but Jon wasn’t going to complain. 

He saw Tom’s name and sat up quickly in Spencer’s embrace to answer before Tom gave up. “Yo! Jwalk!” Tom greeted. 

Jon smiled and leaned back against Spencer’s chest. It had been at least a week since Tom had called. They’d been taking a break somewhere, and when they weren’t on stage every night Jon knew they lost sense of the time. “What’s up?” Jon asked. Ryan’s fingers tip-toed up Jon’s leg, past his knee. Jon watched the progress, but didn’t stop him. 

“So, with the upcoming holiday, Bill managed to sweet-talk Tony into arranging a long weekend for us,” Tom explained and Bill exclaimed something in the background about his amazing charm. 

Jon rolled his eyes at the antics, breath catching a little when Ryan’s fingers walked higher up Jon’s thigh. Spencer kissed the side of Jon’s neck, his own fingers skating down Jon’s chest on an inevitable collision course with Ryan’s. “That’s…uh…awesome for you,” Jon said, hoping he didn’t sound too obviously like a guy getting groped. 

“No,” Tom corrected, “it’s awesome for _you_. We’re playing in Arizona tonight and then we’re coming to play the House of Blues in Vegas…” There was once a time when Jon had known every show date better than the band, but he’d been distracted, as of late. 

“Shit, tomorrow?” Jon asked. Ryan’s fingers paused undoing the knot of Jon’s sweatpants. He shook his head frantically for Ryan to continue and Ryan gave him a wicked little grin. Jon raised his hips enough to let Ryan get the pants down. Spencer’s hand was on him in an instant. 

“And then we’re staying through the Fourth,” Tom confirmed. “So you better show us a good time.” 

Ryan’s lips wrapped around the head of Jon’s cock and he sucked gently, bumping up against Spencer’s fingers. And maybe the STD testing had been obnoxious, but it was totally worth it to have Ryan going down on him without anything between them. “Fuck,” Jon hissed. 

“If you insist,” Ryan said, pulling back just enough to suck two fingers in his mouth. He went back to work on Jon’s cock and pressed both fingers against Jon’s ass, easing them in slowly. 

“Someone else there, Jonny?” Tom asked, the teasing tone of his voice suggesting that he’d caught on. 

“My, ah, roommates,” Jon answered, and oh god, how was he going to explain this to Tom? He’d never hear the end of it. 

“Roommates?” Spencer asked and bit down hard on Jon’s neck, fingers going tight around his cock. Spencer rocked his hips up and Jon felt Spencer’s dick against the small of his back. 

“Does Jonny boy have a _friend_?” Bill asked and Jon knew they were doing that annoying thing where they had both their faces pressed up against the phone even though there was a fucking speakerphone button for a reason, you know, Bill. 

“You should bring her to the show tomorrow,” Tom said. Jon could hear the smirk in his voice. 

Tom was sort of a loud mouth on the phone. _Her?_ Ryan mouthed at Jon and bit the inside of his thigh. Jon arched his hips and made an unmistakable sound. 

“Aww,” Bill cooed. “Sounds like might be a little breathless. We should let him go take care of that.” 

“Three tickets,” Jon managed to bite out. “I’ll need three tickets for tomorrow.” 

“Sure thing, Jon. Have fun,” Tom said and Bill made kissy noises then the line went dead. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Jon sighed. “You—”

“Shut up,” Ryan smirked. “You love it.” He climbed up Jon’s body for a kiss and there was a moment of awkward fumbling that ended with Spencer and Ryan’s pants joining Jon’s on the floor. 

The first time Spencer had produced lube out of the drawer in the end table, Jon had laughed. Now he’d learned to appreciate the convenience of it. Spencer and Ryan liked sex a lot, and they liked it anywhere and everywhere. There was lube stashed all over the house and more often than not Ryan had some on hand in his jeans. Jon could totally get down with that way of thinking. 

He let them manhandle him how they wanted, hissing when he settled in Spencer’s lap, Spencer’s cock spearing him open. Spencer wasn’t quite as long as Ryan, but was thicker and it burned all the way in, in the best way. The second Spencer was all the way in, Ryan spread his legs wide, straddling both their laps. He slicked lube down Jon’s cock and climbed on, taking him all in one thrust. 

“Fucking… _fuck_ ,” Jon whimpered, because there wasn’t anything else to say. They hadn’t done this before, all three of them at once, and that seemed like a fucking crime. They had to do this for the rest of forever. 

Ryan chuckled, leaning his forehead against Jon’s, sharing his breath. “So eloquent, Jon,” he taunted. He brushed his hand fondly down Jon’s cheek and caught Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth, giving a little tug. 

“I’ll show you eloquent,” Jon growled. He grabbed Ryan’s hips and gave a rough thrust up, as much as he could. Ryan’s head dropped back, throat working around a groan. Jon settled back on Spencer’s cock, thighs shaking from a mixture of effort and pleasure, making his muscles turn to liquid. 

“Next time,” Spencer grunted, shifting his hips, fingers tangling with Jon’s on Ryan’s hips, “I’m on top.” 

“Quit complaining and move,” Ryan moaned. 

The thing was, it was a little difficult to move very much like this. Spencer just rocked up against Jon in a steady rhythm, panting against Jon’s neck. Ryan had more freedom, bouncing on Jon’s lap, in time with Spencer. Jon, caught between them, let their hands guide him how and where they wanted him. 

Jon wrapped a hand around Ryan’s cock, pulling hard, using all the things he’d learned over the past week against him. And he’d learned a lot, since pretty much all the time he wasn’t at work was spent experimenting with what made Ryan and Spencer feel best. They were both pretty flexible about who was on top and bottom, and could be coaxed to go fast or slow, gentle or hard, but they had their preferences. 

Spencer liked it lazy and unhurried, and he didn’t mind them fucking him hard, but he wasn’t a fan of pain. He liked kisses that lasted for hours, whether they led anywhere or not (though they inevitably did). His one concession to pain was regarding blowjobs. He liked when they grabbed his hair, liked being at their mercy, just fucking his mouth, making him take it all the way. 

Ryan, whether on top or bottom, liked it when they were rough with him, just beyond where most would find it pleasurable. He liked them to leave bruises on his hips and bite marks across his throat and down his chest. Jon liked to match his fingers over the bruises Spencer left, squeezing down on the tender skin until Ryan whimpered and squirmed and begged to be fucked. 

Now Jon traced a nail up the thick vein of Ryan’s cock, flicked hard against the head, twisted his wrist with just enough force to make Ryan cry out and ride him harder. He didn’t let up, straining his neck to suck marks down Ryan’s throat. Ryan made a sound like a sob and came hard, shaking in Jon’s arms. 

“Fuck, Jon,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around Jon’s shoulders and slumping against his chest heavily. 

Spencer grunted his disapproval and Ryan leaned over Jon’s shoulder to kiss him. He wished he could see it. They kissed so beautifully, all their years of friendship in each touch. 

“Come here,” Ryan said, and leaned back to lay himself out over the sofa. He kept his thighs tight around Jon’s hips, ankles at Spencer’s, keeping Jon inside him. Jon and Spencer followed, reversing their position, and Spencer slammed into Jon with jarring force, shoving him deep into Ryan. 

“Shit,” Jon panted, “I’m going to…” he trailed off with a groan, grinding his hips against Ryan’s. 

Spencer pulled out enough almost all the way and pushed back in hard. “That’s the point,” he said into Jon’s neck, and bit hard on Jon’s earlobe. 

Jon never managed to last very long with these two, but he supposed what they lacked in duration, they made up in quantity. And the quality _really_ wasn’t lacking. Spencer fucked Jon into Ryan and Ryan arched into each thrust, raising his hips to meet them. 

Ryan smiled up at him, eyes happy and he was _so beautiful_ like this. “Love you,” Ryan said, and Jon buried his face in Ryan’s shoulder and came with a sharp cry. 

Spencer had the most stamina of the three of them, kept fucking Jon until his cock was starting to get interested again. He could feel Ryan’s dick stirring, too. When he came in was with a little groan muffled in the skin at the top of Jon’s spine, caught between his teeth. 

Ryan let them catch their breath for a minute before he started squirming, pushing at Jon’s chest. He gasped when Jon gave a little swivel of his hips. “Sh-shower,” Ryan stuttered. Spencer pulled off and Jon still wasn’t quite used to that, feeling open and empty, after, Spencer’s come sliding down his thigh. 

Jon rocked inside of Ryan until he was fully hard again, licked a path up Ryan’s neck, closed his teeth against Ryan’s ear. He waited until Ryan’s breathing was laboured again, hands gone from pushing to clinging, hips meeting Jon’s, and then Jon pulled away. 

Ryan swallowed hard enough that Jon heard it. He reached out his arms, blinking as if lost. “Shower,” Jon said matter-of-factly and Spencer chuckled. The two of them scrambled off the couch and hurried up the stairs giggling, waiting for Ryan to follow. 

Jon ended up getting fucked against the shower wall, each thrust of Ryan’s cock punishing. He knew he’d be sore for days, but he loved every second of it, begging for more, and Spencer gave it, taking Ryan’s place when he was done. 

They fell asleep in a damp tangle of limbs after, and it wasn’t ‘til the next morning over breakfast when Spencer said, “So, we’re going somewhere tonight?” that Jon even remembered Tom had called the night before. 

“Shit,” he said. He needed to talk to Tom before they showed up. “It’s The Academy Is…, they’ve got a show at the House of Blues tonight, then they’re staying for the weekend. They said something about hanging out…”

Spencer and Ryan exchanged an unreadable look. “They could come to the party,” Ryan said at last. “I mean, since you’ve already invited half the city anyway.” 

Jon shoved at his knee under the table. “Look. Maybe you should meet them before you go inviting them,” Jon said. Spencer frowned and Ryan arched a brow, but neither of them argued the point. 

“We’ll go by early. The concert probably starts around seven, but I don’t know what order they’re playing in, since they’re touring with Cobra and Gym Class. My last appointment should be over by five thirty.” 

“Should we, I mean…these are your best friends?” Ryan asked nervously. “Should we…”

Jon stroked a hand over Ryan’s hair and down his cheek and lifted his face for a kiss. “You’re my best friends,” Jon said. Ryan put a hand over Jon’s, cheeks reddening. 

Jon grabbed Spencer around the waist on his way out of the kitchen, pulling him away from the dishes and pinning him to the counter for a kiss. “Love you,” Jon said, and Spencer smiled bright and whispered it back into another kiss. 

As soon as he was in his car, he sent a text to Tom, _I need 2 tlk 2u b4 2nte_. 

_Fair enough. We wanna see your studio. Give us the address. Butchers sweet-talking a security guard out of his car keys_. 

Well, that could only end in disaster. He sent back the address and a request that they not all die messily. _Got apptmnt til 12, come then_. 

He was just finishing up with a particularly prima donna senior and her crazy ass mother (who seemed to think they knew better than he how she should be posed, when Stephanie let him know he had some visitors. She sounded vaguely off. Bill could have that effect on people. 

It was totally worth all his client’s fussing when they all came out into the lobby and her jaw dropped at the sight of a bunch of rock stars lounging around. Tom and Bill vied for the first hugs, the rest of the group crowding in around them. 

“Dude,” Sisky said, taking the place in, “dude, we should totally have you do the shit for our next album here.” 

“Definitely,” Tom said with a proud little smile. Then he grabbed Jon in another breathtakingly tight hug. He buried his face in Jon’s shoulder. “I missed you so much,” Tom said. 

Jon was _not_ going cry. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a close thing. “Me too,” he said. 

Bill cleared his throat and said, “Seriously, Jonny Walker, you are being very handsy.” 

Both Tom and Jon laughed and Jon was pleased to hear Tom’s sounded a little wet. They pulled back to press their foreheads together, grinning. Tom let go of him altogether a second later. 

“We had this grand plan of sweeping into town and like, whisking you away from your boring life and taking you back on the road with us,” Bill admitted. 

“There was going to be a limousine,” Butcher said, grinning smugly as if the idea had been his. “And roses.” 

“But I guess you’re doing okay for yourself,” Bill finished. 

“Of course he is,” Tom said, in a soft little voice that made Jon regret any recent less than friendly thoughts he’d had about him. Maybe Tom wasn’t Ryan and Spencer, but that was probably a good thing. Tom was still his oldest friend, still loved him. 

“I’m hungry,” Sisky whined. “Jon, take us out for food.” He kicked Jon’s shoe plaintively. 

“My next appointment isn’t for another hour and a half. I can take you to a place down the street. Steph, can you hold my calls until I get back?” He turned around to see her watching Bill with a sort of naked hunger. He supposed it made sense that if she was a fan of Ryan’s poetry, she’d probably like The Academy’s music, too. Bill gave her a rakish smile in return. 

“Stephanie?” 

Stephanie jerked out of it, looking fast at Jon. “Huh?” 

Bill sauntered over to her, working the hips. “You coming to our show tonight?” he asked. She nodded dumbly. “Where are your seats?” 

“B-balcony,” she whispered. 

Bill took her hand, running his fingers lightly over the back. “How’d you like an upgrade?” Stephanie whimpered. 

Jon sighed, jerking Bill away by his arm. “Call Jonny when you get to the venue,” Bill said. “We’ll hook you up.” 

“Stephanie, please hold my calls until I get back,” Jon repeated. Stephanie mumbled her assent, but Jon wasn’t sure whether it was in response to him or to Bill. 

“You’re such a jackass,” Jon told him, when they’d settled into the café next door. 

Bill lowered his sunglasses and smiled beatifically. “Whatever. You’re the one who didn’t even warn her we were coming in.” 

They fell into easy conversation. Or rather, Bill, Jack and Mike all talking over each other to tell Jon all that he’d missed on the latest tour while Tom leaned in frequently to whisper the true course of events in his ear. 

Jon figured it was better that way, anyway. There wasn’t a lot very exciting that happened in his life lately, other than, you know, his really awesome ménage-a-trois, but he wasn’t going to go into detail on that, no matter how drunk or high they managed to get him this weekend. 

His phone buzzed and he jumped, wondering if Stephanie had forgotten his request. He flipped out open and saw Ryan’s name and selected the text, reading it quickly. 

“Wow,” Butcher said. 

“Yeah,” Bill agreed. 

“Jonny, are you _in love_?” Tom asked. Jon looked up at them, only then realising he had a ridiculous grin across his face. 

Bill jerked the phone out of his hands before Jon could stop him. “Well he was just hanging around then he fell in love, and he didn’t know how, but he couldn’t get out,” Bill recited. He made an impressed face. “You’re girl a lyricist?” 

Jon grabbed the phone back, snapped it shut and shoved it in his pocket. “Look,” Jon said. 

“I hope you’ve told your girl about us,” Tom said, teasing. 

Jon barely faltered. “I maybe mentioned you guys a time or two. But look, about that—”

“Not trying to weasel out of introducing us, are you?” Bill asked. “Worried we’ll scare her away?” 

Jon wanted to scoff, but that was sort of it. Ryan could be really delicate about things, and he _liked_ The Academy. If Bill said something shitty about Ryan’s poetry…well, Jon didn’t know, but it wouldn’t be good. 

“Okay,” he said. He was just going to lay it all out. “Seriously, if you guys are dickheads about this, I’m walking right the fuck out.” 

Bill’s smile faltered and Tom laid a hand on Jon’s knee. “Dude, whatever,” he said, and sounded vaguely hurt. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed. He rubbed his face. “Okay. I’m not. I’m not in love with a girl.” He took a deep breath. If Ryan could so casually reveal their relationship to Celia, Jon could do this with his fucking friends. “I’m in love with-” the words stuck in his throat. 

“A goat?” Sisky offered unhelpfully. Jon glared. 

“Seriously?” Tom asked. “You think _we’d_ freak out over you dating a dude? We’re like, the gayest band ever.” 

“Hey,” Mike muttered in protest, but no one really paid him any attention. 

“I’m dating two guys,” Jon said. He just said it. It fell in absolute silence. 

“For real?” Sisky finally blurted out. 

“And one of them is Ryan Ross, and I swear to god, if any of you say anything to him, because I _know_ none of you have read his stuff, and I’m not going to let you be douchebags just because a bunch of his fans happen to be stupid emo kids.” 

Jon sounded a little vicious to his own ears, so he couldn’t blame them for all staring at him in stunned disbelief. Their Jonny Walker never talked like that. He made himself take a deep breath. 

“Is this…some sort of joke?” Bill asked at length, doing that weird half-smile, half-you’re-fucking-crazy thing with his brows and lips that he usually reserved for when Siska and Butcher were being weird. 

“If you’d _read_ it,” Jon said, but less venomously. 

“Wait,” Butcher interrupted. “I really don’t get it.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Tom hissed. “Jonny. Are you…?”

Jon fumbled his phone out again, going to his memory. Spencer liked taking ridiculous pictures and texting them with weird taglines. Occasionally he stole Jon’s phone, too, saying if he wasn’t allowed to use Jon’s nice cameras, he could at least use his phone one, since it was shitty. 

There were several pictures he wasn’t about to share with them, of Spencer and Ryan in compromising positions, sent while Jon was at work and couldn’t do anything about it for hours because his boys were fucking _teases_. He skimmed past them and found a picture of the three of them, Jon and Spencer squishing their cheeks to either side of Ryan’s face, grinning broadly while Ryan made an annoyed expression. 

He passed it to Tom to see, relieved when he saw a slow smile spread over Tom’s face. “Pretty boys you got there,” he commented. Bill huffed a sigh and reached for the phone. “Not prettier than you, babe,” he added. 

Even after seeing the picture most of them still looked cautiously dubious about the whole thing. Jon couldn’t entirely blame them. “I’m just warning you guys,” Jon said, with a pointed look at Bill, “if you say something—if you hurt them, I’m going to kick your asses.” 

“We’ll be on our best behaviour,” Butcher said solemnly. Mike laughed nervously, but the rest of them nodded their agreement. 

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Jon said. “We’ll be coming by early, though.” 

“Hey,” Tom said, as they were all leaving, “I think I’ll just hang out with JWalk if that’s cool.” 

Bill’s expression gave Jon the impression that it wasn’t cool, but he didn’t say anything. Sometimes Jon thought all the things the two of them didn’t say to each other was going to come back and bite them in the ass someday. 

Tom just watched while Jon did his first afternoon shot. Jon had missed going out with him, just messing around. In the few minutes they had before his second session, Tom dragged him into his office. 

“So,” he said. 

“So,” Jon said back. 

Tom sighed. “Help me out here, Jon. A month ago you tell me you’re going to go take pictures for this guy, and then you never say anything else about him, and now you’re fucking _dating_ him?” He didn’t sound angry, so much as bewildered. “And who’s this other guy?” 

Jon shrugged. “Spencer and Ryan were together when I met them,” he said. He didn’t know anyway to explain that wouldn’t sound insane. 

“So, what, they decided they needed to a little spice in the bedroom or something?” Tom asked. He didn’t look very pleased at the prospect. 

“It isn’t like that,” Jon said, scowling. “They’re not like that.” 

Stephanie buzzed through his desk phone, “Your three-fifteen is here.” 

“I just…I don’t want to get into it Tom,” Jon said, “but I love them, and I want you to like them too, obviously. They’re important to me, and so are you.” 

Tom shook his head in disbelief. “I just. I thought it was Cassie for you, man. I thought you two would get back together.” 

Jon hadn’t ever thought that, but he wasn’t so sure that Tom had really understood why they’d broken up. “Well. Then I met Spence and Ryan.” He smiled at Tom. “They’re really awesome, Tom. Ryan is so talented and Spencer is so fucking smart.” 

Jon left Tom in his office for the next shoot and when he came back, he found Tom going through the folders of Ryan and Spencer pictures. There were maybe an obscene amount of pictures of the two of them on his computer. 

“These are really gorgeous,” he said, scrolling through—some black and white shots from the back yard and bedroom, some of the shots from their recent trip, and several from the first photo shoot with Ryan (which, after moving in, Jon had stolen back from Spencer). 

“I’m lucky. My subject matter’s pretty nice,” Jon said. 

“You are so fucking smitten,” Tom muttered. 

“Says the guy who thinks William Beckett hung the moon,” Jon scoffed. 

“Okay. But. _Ryan Ross_?” Tom asked. It didn’t have the same scorn or disbelief as before, but was strangely pleading, like he wanted Jon to say it was all just a joke. 

“Wait until you know him,” Jon said. He closed the computer down and began packing up to go home. “Just. And if you’d just look up some of his stuff online, seriously. He plays guitar, and Spence plays drums, and he’s got arrangements for a lot of his poetry, it’s really awesome. I can’t tell you how stupid I felt, when I first read his stuff. That I’d judged it without even looking at it.” 

“I don’t think you’re going to win Bill over without a fight,” Tom said. 

“I don’t really give a fuck what Bill thinks, as long as he doesn’t say it to Ryan. He could say it to Spence, though. Spence would probably kick his ass,” Jon said, enjoying the mental image. 

Tom gave him a sceptical look. “The one who wears all the pink? And the barrettes?” 

Jon laughed. “Don’t let looks fool you. Spencer’s one tough mother fucker.” 

They didn’t discuss it any further on the drive to the condo, for which Jon was really thankful. Instead Tom hooked his iPod up and played him some of their new demos, and told him about the book he’d been reading. 

“So,” Jon said, “they’re fans of you guys. They were before I even met them. But sometimes they’re kinda bad at showing it so can you…just...” 

“Would you quit being such a freak?” Tom said. “If they’re as awesome as you say, everything will be cool.” 

Jon wasn’t so sure about that, but he stopped protesting. He pulled into the driveway alongside the hybrid. Spencer would insist on taking it, he was sure. “Nice place,” Tom observed. “Ross’?” 

“His and Spencer’s,” Jon said, and then, mumbling, “and I live with them.” 

Tom shot him a politely bemused look. “I’m sorry?” 

“Dude, it’s a long story,” Jon said. “After the show, okay?” Tom, because he was Tom, totally let it drop. 

Jon was barely through the front door when Ryan, descending the stairs, jumped the last three into Jon’s arms, winding his legs around Jon’s waist and sending him crashing into the wall. “Hi,” Ryan said, grinning goofily. 

“Hi,” Jon said, smiling cautiously, because this was unusual. He moved his hands to grip Ryan’s ass to keep him from slipping. “What’s up?” 

“We have a surprise for you!” Ryan said, and dipped his head to give Jon a kiss when he finally spotted Tom, hovering uncertainly just outside the door. “Oh,” Ryan said, dropping his legs and stepping back quickly. 

“Hey,” Tom said, nodding. 

“Ryan, this is Tom,” Jon said.

Ryan extended his hand in the same polite, removed way he had when Jon had first met him. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” Ryan said, and Jon could hear the question in his voice. 

“Me, too,” Tom said, smiling. “About you and Spencer.” 

Ryan pursed his lips. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the show tonight?” He asked. 

“I wanted to catch up with my boy,” Tom said, tossing an arm around Jon’s shoulder. He did it in a purposefully baiting way, but Ryan didn’t fall for it. Instead, he grinned. 

“Did you tell him?” Spencer asked, appearing at the top of the stairs. He saw Tom and frowned politely. “Oh. Sorry. Hello.” He hurried down and blushed around a smile when he said, “I’m a big fan of yours. I’m Spencer.” 

“We should probably get going,” Jon said. He felt uneasy now that they were all in the same room together. “Before Bill freaks out and tells Tony I’ve kidnapped you.” 

The first few minutes in the car were incredibly awkward, the only sound the radio. Surprisingly, it was Ryan who broke the silence, leaning forward to address Tom, asking him about his guitar, which somehow turned into a discussion of Bob Dylan. Jon wasn’t really following, but Ryan didn’t always make sense, and anyway Tom seemed to understand the leap, and better, after a few minutes he snuck Jon a private little smile that screamed his approval. 

By the time they got to the venue, Ryan had relaxed a little in his skin. Spencer kept tight hold on his hand all the same, and as soon as they were out of the car, Jon took Ryan’s other hand. Ryan gripped it like a lifeline. 

It was just Jon’s luck that the first people they ran into inside the venue were Gabe and Travis. Gabe greeted Jon with a leer and a grope and then took in Spencer and Ryan. “So, this is the kinky little ménage-a-trois,” he cooed. 

Ryan tensed and Spencer tossed his hair back defiantly. “Aww, no need to be jealous, Gabe, just cause William and Tom won’t let you in on that action,” Jon teased. 

Travis giggled and Gabe scowled playfully at him. “If you’re ever looking to add a fourth,” he said, “you know how to get a hold of me. The Cobra has mad sexual techniques, yo.” 

After that, it wasn’t so bad. There was a second, when they walked into The Academy’s dressing room, where Jon felt like they were in a bad western, tumbleweed blowing in the wind and all. Then somehow Spencer ended up trading dirty jokes with Butcher, Sisky and Mike, and Tom introduced Ryan to Vicky and Ryland, and the tension went away. 

Bill cornered Jon in the corner, looking vaguely seductive, but with Bill that could mean just about anything. Sometimes Jon wasn’t sure if Bill really understood about utilising different facial expressions. His stock of five or so seemed to serve him well enough though, so maybe Bill didn’t care. 

“So,” Bill said, wiggling his brows. “I read some of your boy’s stuff.” He tossed his hair back and gave Jon a come-hither look. Either that, or he was wondering who ate the last Pop-tart. 

“Okay…” Jon said, smiling cautiously, teasing around the edges. 

“Yeah,” Bill said. He pursed his lips. “It wasn’t bad,” he finally said. 

Jon let his smile go, take over his whole face. “S’okay. I won’t say I told you so.” Bill looked rightfully dubious about this. 

“I’m still not sure he and his little…” Bill glanced at Spencer as if he was searching for an appropriate word to describe him. “Anyway. I’m not sure they deserve you. I mean, I always thought there was too much Jon Walker for one person to handle, but _those two_.” 

Jon laughed. “They handle me pretty well,” he said, tone laced with suggestion. 

Bill huffed a sigh. “I’m just saying. I might have to challenge them for your honour.” 

“Please. I don’t want to have to explain to Tom why his boyfriend was massacred by mine,” Jon said. 

“I don’t have to put up with this,” Bill exclaimed. “I’m going to go warm up.” He flounced off dramatically. 

The after-party was in Bill and Tom’s hotel suite, with booze, impropriety and too many people crammed in too small a space. Jon ended up with a Spencer in his lap, so he couldn’t really complain. 

Ryan had done shots with Bill and apparently that was some sort of bonding experience, because now the two of them were getting on really well. Ryan, wobbly drunk, was perched on the arm of the sofa, braced with an arm on Jon’s shoulder, fingers scraping absently over Jon’s scalp, in a fierce debate with Bill over something pertaining to Don Quixote. 

Jon was still on his first beer and Tom kept trying to offer him another only to be confused when he saw Jon hadn’t finished. When Tom had tried to pass him a joint, Jon had to consider it a long time, but the feeling he usually got from marijuana—light and warm and full—he already had. 

“Nah,” he said, and Tom’s brows rose high on his forehead. 

“Dude,” Tom said. 

Jon smiled, pressing at kiss into Spencer’s neck. “I got my boys,” Jon said, and Spencer beamed at him. 

Stephanie, however, did not pass, and after a few hits and a couple beers, mellowed sufficiently. She was discussing photography with Tom in between answering Nate’s questions about bands around campus. She’d only been slightly bemused to see Ryan, though perhaps meeting Bill had helped to prepare her to cope with that. 

“I’ve found my soul mate, Bill,” Tom said, patting Stephanie on the knee. “She understands my art.” 

Bill rolled his eyes. “You get lonely babe, you know Papi will take care of you,” Gabe purred. That sent everyone into raucous laughter and Tom proclaiming he’d changed his mind, just to save Bill from the VDs. 

Spencer nuzzled at Jon’s throat and whispered, “I like your friends.” 

“Mmm,” Jon agreed. He ducked his head to brush his lips over Spencer’s. His breath smelled like beer. “I like you,” Jon said. He deepened the kiss and Spencer responded at once, parting his lips and twining his arms around Jon’s neck, pulling him closer. 

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Jon heard Bill whisper and felt Ryan’s nails scrape with more pressure across his scalp. Jon could tell just from that touch that Ryan was turned on. 

“Why should it bother me?” Ryan asked, tone incredulous. “They’re fucking hot.” 

“Yeah, but aren’t you jealous?” Bill protested. Bill liked to tell stories of all the kinky shit he’d done in high school, but he was still amazingly vanilla. 

Ryan made an amused sound and slipped off the arm of the sofa into Jon’s lap, legs tangling with Spencer’s. He gave a little tug on Jon’s hair and Jon tipped his head back, making it easier for Ryan to slide forward, fitting his mouth alongside theirs. Spencer made a happy sound and wriggled closer. They were getting pretty good at this three-way kissing thing, Jon thought. 

“Shit, that’s hot,” Gabe said, and Mike said, “ _Fuck_.” 

Ryan was the first to pull away, mouth red and swollen. He smiled smugly at Bill. “I’m not jealous because it’s mine, too,” he said, “because I can do that whenever I want.” 

Bill nodded dumbly and flicked not so subtle gaze in Tom’s direction. Jon smacked Spencer’s ass lightly, enough to earn him an indignant sound and a bite on his lip. “I think I’m gonna take my boys home,” Jon said, liking the way Spencer’s eyes sparked at his words. 

Spencer scrambled to his feet, dragging Ryan with him. “Will we see you tomorrow?” Tom asked, his casual tone belying what he was really asking. 

“I’ll call you,” Jon said. “We’ll show you the town. And, uh,” he glanced at Ryan just to double check and Ryan nodded. “We’re having a Fourth thing on Monday that you guys should come to.” That, apparently, appeased Tom. 

Ryan was still really drunk from his shots and Spencer was buzzed enough that he was all red in the face and giggly at Jon’s side, so Jon drove. It was sort of weird being the designated driver. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d left a party and not been wasted. 

It was nice. 

Jon glanced at them in the rear view mirror, tangled all together in a way that bespoke of the years of their closeness. In the shadows it was difficult to tell whose arm was whose, where one body began and the other ended. He thought of the poem Ryan had recited at the book reading and heard a melody along with it. 

“Things have changed for me,” he sang, “but that’s okay, I feel the same.” 

Spencer lifted his head to meet Jon’s gaze in the mirror. “We have a present for you, Jon Walker.” 

Ryan mumbled an agreement into Spencer’s shirtfront, nodding his head. “We’re gonna be a band,” he said. 

They presented him with the bass when they got home, dragging him up to the study. “We asked Brent, and he gave us a list, and then we saw this one.” 

Jon didn’t even want know how much money they’d spent on the bass. It was a Fender Jaguar maple and rosewood and a black finish. “You guys, this is too much,” he said. But there was no way he was giving it back. 

“Well, you’ll just have to pay us back by making our band rock hardcore,” Spencer teased. 

Sunday was a whirlwind of activity, hoping from one casino to another. The bands had all been through Vegas before, but usually only for a day at most, and that meant a visit to one, maybe two casinos if you knew how to work it. So they wandered up and down the Strip, Ryan and Spencer telling some truly hilarious stories that not even Jon had heard about their experiences at the various places, or rumours that had been passed down from the locals. 

Tom monopolised most of Jon’s time, but it was good, getting a chance to talk nonsense with Tom after so long away. It was good to know that even with that time and distance they could fall into their same old, familiar routine. Even if it meant Jon had to explain how he’d ended up living with Ryan and Spencer, car and all.

That had led to a twenty minute rant from Tom about _what sort of horrible friend do you think I am, Jon, that I wouldn’t help_ and _why didn’t you fucking_ call _me you asshole_? Spencer had been singularly unhelpful, shooting Jon a smug smirk every few minutes throughout, as if to say _see, it wasn’t just us, you are an idiot_. 

The highlight of the evening was the amazing, if inexplicable, attendance of Barry Manilow’s show. Jon was just going to blame that one on Alex and Ryland. It seemed liked the safest bet. 

Monday morning the twins came over early to help out getting things ready. Maybe they were just used to Ryan being famous, but for whatever reason, they weren’t fazed when The Academy showed up bearing a shit tonne of fruit and even more beer. Siska was sort of hilariously reminiscent of Baby from _Dirty Dancing,_ juggling two huge watermelons through the front door. 

After that, the flood of people seemed a little endless. Ryan stood on the back porch surveying the roaring crowd of friends and family both within and without, an absent expression on his face. Jon came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. “What’s up?” 

“I think we need a bigger house,” Ryan observed. 

Spencer had explained to Jon that he hadn’t felt strange letting Ryan buy the condo, because Ryan would have bought it either way, whether he was with Spencer or not, and they’d always planned on living together, so it wasn’t a big deal. 

Ryan buying Spencer’s SUV had been more about paying Spencer back for everything he’d given Ryan throughout the years, and Spencer had felt a little weird about that. But giving Spencer things made Ryan happy, and it wasn’t like Ryan couldn’t afford it, so Spencer eventually learned to give in. 

Jon wasn’t quite to that point yet, but he could think about the idea of Ryan buying them a bigger house and not feel anxious about it. “Something further away from the neighbours,” he suggested. “So Spence can play drums whenever he wants.” Their neighbours had more than once expressed their displeasure over late night jam sessions. 

Ryan smiled at the suggestion, laying his hands over Jon’s, holding him in place. Which was how Spencer’s parents found them when they arrived a few minutes later. Jon had a blind moment of panic when Ryan said, “Mom, Dad!” because from what Ryan had said, Jon was pretty sure Ryan and his mother weren’t on speaking terms and Ryan’s dad was dead. The panic didn’t go away when he realised it was Spencer’s parents, and he was holding their son’s boyfriend in his arms. He tried to pull away but Ryan held fast. 

“Ryan,” Mrs. Smith said and then looked at Jon. “And you must be Jon.” 

Jon swallowed hard. “Yes ma’am,” he said. 

“Jon, this is Ginger and Jeff,” Ryan introduced them. He finally let Jon go so Jon could shake their hands. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Jon mumbled awkwardly, trying to remember all the things his mother had told him about meeting parents for the first time. He didn’t know if this was a situation his mother had ever accounted for. 

“Crystal goes on about you,” Ginger said. “As do my boys.” Ryan blushed a little. She pursed her lips at him. “Don’t think being cute is going to make me forget about the fact that the girls met him months ago and your father and I are only just now meeting him.” 

“I’ve been pretty busy with work,” Jon said, not sure if he was even supposed to be involved in this conversation, but feeling he should say something in Ryan and Spencer’s defence. 

“We’re not upset at you, dear,” Ginger said. 

“Hey,” Spencer said, coming up alongside them, “you know that whole ‘living only ten minutes away’ thing goes both ways, right?” he asked his mother. 

Ginger gave him an unimpressed look, lips twisted in annoyance. “Thank you, Spencer,” she said dryly. 

“Anytime,” Spencer smarted back and gave his mother and father a hug before worming his way between Ryan and Jon to get an arm around them both. He laid his head against Jon’s and grinned cheekily at his parents. 

“Spencer tells me you have a studio downtown,” Jeff commented. “And that you’re the one responsible for those pieces in the living room.” 

“Um…” Jon looked uncertainly to Spencer for his cue. Spencer just smiled serenely back. “Yes sir.” 

“You can call me Jeff, please,” he corrected. “You know,” he went on, “I used to dabble with photography a little bit, in college. Crystal was saying you had some other pieces here?” 

“Oh,” Jon said. “Yes…” Spencer and Ryan weren’t really forthcoming with any help, so Jon let Jeff lead him off to discuss photography. 

Jon was worried it would be awkward, but Jeff actually knew what he was talking about for the most part and noticed things about Jon’s photography that other people didn’t always. Things Jon liked. “I’ll show you some of my stuff when you come over on Friday,” Jeff said. 

“Friday?” Jon echoed, wondering if he’d missed something. 

Jeff chuckled. “Ginger’s been bitching about Spence and Ryan not bringing you home. We’re making roast on Friday so she can sit you all down for a family dinner. I imagine as soon as we were gone she gave them a guilt trip until they submitted.” 

Jon cornered his Spencer as soon as possible, dragging him into the pantry off the kitchen. “Do your parents realise exactly what is going on here?” Jon asked, because he wasn’t so sure. No one could be so cool about finding out that their surrogate son and their actual son were involved in a ménage-a-trois. 

Spencer chuckled and looked just like his father when he did. “Well, I’m not sure they’ve really sought out the _details_ ,” he said, “but…yeah. I told them how I felt about you before we even got together. And, I mean, Crystal wouldn’t shut up about how stupid we were being about you.” 

“Crystal knows?” Jon asked. 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Her and Jackie both. They’re sixteen, and they’re not blind.” 

“But…they just…they don’t _care_?” Jon sputtered. 

“I’ve got a pretty cool family,” Spencer said, bending to press a kiss to the corner of Jon’s mouth. “You should have seen how my parents reacted when they found out about me and Ryan.” A smile curled over his face at the memory. 

“It was so embarrassing, but they just…they just basically said that they trusted us to not do anything stupid. They let me stay all the time at Ryan’s dorm even though I was still in high school and they knew exactly what we were doing.” There was a dull blush over his cheeks. “They didn’t care, because they trusted us, and they knew we loved each other. And they trusted us when we told them we loved you.” 

“You really do have the coolest parents ever,” Jon agreed, a little bit awed. He was still trying to figure out how he was even going to broach the subject with his own parents. 

“Well, yeah. They raised me,” Spencer said. He draped his arms over Jon’s shoulders and leaned in for a longer kiss. 

In the backyard, Suarez had taken over DJing duties and Gabe and Tom had begun a game of limbo and somehow Butcher had taken over grilling duties from Ryan. That was only moderately better. Now Bill and Ryan were sharing a lounge chair and playing guitar together, heads bent close. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen my boys look so happy,” Ginger said, coming up alongside him. “Spencer’s helped Ryan a lot, but it’s been tough.” 

Jon had definitely got that impression, but he wasn’t sure that they’d been unhappy before he’d come. “I think they would have been fine without me,” he said. 

“I think so, too,” Ginger said. “But sometimes three works better than two.” 

Three definitely worked better than two. Sometimes Jon thought it was strange how well it worked. There weren’t a lot of fights, mostly only when Spencer was stressed over school or when Jon got busy at work, and those were easily resolved with soft words and softer kisses. Jon was never ashamed to apologise and was always quick to forgive, and no one held grudges for long. 

Ryan was more difficult to handle, because no matter how happy he was most of the time, fits of depression could take him suddenly and completely, making him mope around listlessly. Luckily, between Spencer’s experience and Jon’s temperament, they learned to coax him out. 

And then Jon _did_ see them becoming happier. It was the way Ryan no longer shirked his public appearances, the way he recited his poetry confidently, the way he laughed openly, even around strangers. It was in the way Spencer stopped watching every move Ryan made, worried that someone might hurt him. It was like Spencer could finally fully relax, knowing Jon was there to help. 

A year passed, and Jon had long stopped worrying that the feelings would go away. The little problems only made them stronger in the long run, closer. Spencer and Ryan had had a lifetime to learn each other, but Jon held his own, all things considered. It helped that they were so willing to share, to draw him in as deep as they were. 

Three worked so well that Jon forgot what being just two was like, wondered how anyone could function as any other number. 

Then he went out in the desert and stumbled across a boy in an elf costume.


End file.
